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“/ had discovered not only the abiding place of the soul , 
but the soul itself. ” 


The 

Soul of Henry Harrington 

and 

Other Stories 


By Frank Emory Bunts 

rj 



ILLUSTRATIONS BY 
WM. J. BROWNLOW 


/ 


Cleveland * Ohio * 1916 


2j 




. (f r : 

• «* • • - 


DEC 20 1916 

Press of 

The Gardner Printing Co. 
Cleveland, Ohio 


©Cl. A 4 53 168 

~7 iJo x < 



TO MY FRIENDS 


Most of these stories were writ- 
ten many years ago when the 
strange things of life left an in- 
delible impression upon my mind. 
Since then, I have found many 
stranger than these, but I could 
not write them or even tell them; 
and so, because of your kindness 
and patience in listening to the 
old stories, I have gathered them 
together in this little volume and 
send them to you as a token of 
my appreciation. 

F. E. BUNTS. 

December 25, 1916. 





INDEX 


T 

PAGE 

The Soul of Henry Harrington 13 

Idolized 49 

A Japanese Hell t 61 

A Christmas Story 79 

Pete 87 

An Old Story with a New Ending 95 


Jess of the Hills . . 


. . Ill 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


? 


PAGE 

“I had discovered not only the abiding 
place of the soul, but the soul itself’* 
Frontispiece 


“Then she arose and bent over me” . 56 

“For a moment he seemed to be en- 
dowed with supernatural strength as 
he grasped my clothes and clung to 
them in desperation” 70 


“Good-night, my child; good-night for- 
ever, my darling little boy” ... 82 


“Pete’s only friend seemed to be just his 
faithful ragged dog” 90 

“But that is all past; let go my hand! 

You can not be my friend, but you 
must be my physician” ... . 104 


“I am very sorry, sir, if I scared your 
horse * * * I’m afraid you are 

hurt, sir. Let me help you” . . . 


118 





















































































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■v*. 














The 

Soul of Henry Harrington 







THE SOUL OF HENRY HARRINGTON 13 


THE SOUL OF HENRY HARRINGTON 

T HE relationship between the finite 
and the infinite, the real and the un- 
real, is so closely t blended that we 
must often pause and hold a momentary 
debate with ourselves ere we decide what, 
in our limited capacity of belief, we are to 
accept as within the bounds of possibility; 
and if, in that which I am about to relate, 
there creep into the mind of the reader a 
suspicion that I have ventured a little be- 
yond the depths of his credulity, and drawn 
too heavily upon my imagination for a 
new theory, he must remember that I claim 
simply to be a very truthful narrator of 
another’s tale and of my own observations. 

It is but a short time since Doctor 
Ernst, a former friend and classmate of 
mine, hunted me up in my office in Ger- 
mantown, where I had been located since 
I had graduated some years previously 
from a Philadelphia medical college. 

He had just returned from Europe, and 
appeared to have changed greatly since I 
had last seen him. There was a nervous 
and unsettled air about him that contrasted 


14 THE SOUL OF HENRY HARRINGTON 


oddly with the free and open-hearted class- 
mate I had known of yore. 

I was delighted to see him, however, 
and determined to have a good, long chat 
with him over old times. The office boy 
was instructed to say that I was out attend- 
ing an important case, and, making our- 
selves as comfortable as we could in my 
private office, with the door locked against 
any intruders, we indulged in reminis- 
cences of the past. He seemed somewhat 
reticent about his own past, and it was only 
after considerable urging that he related 
the following history: — 

You remember that when we were in 
Philadelphia together, studying medicine, 
I was prosector for Professor Harter, and 
deeply interested in the dissection of the 
nervous system. There was always a 
subtle fascination about it that had an in- 
finite charm for me. The coarser muscular 
and bony structures never interested me in 
the least, except as being the recipients of 
that mysterious force that creeps along the 
nerves and endues them with life and 
motion. The two years succeeding my 
graduation I devoted exclusively to follow- 
ing up my mania for dissecting, for such 


THE SOUL OF HENRY HARRINGTON 15 


I verily believe it had become. I could 
scarcely take time for my meals, and my 
very nights were dreaming repetitions of 
my day’s work. 

I had been impressed with a remark 
made early in his course of lectures by 
Professor Harter, that, while anatomy had 
advanced to almost an exact science, while 
each muscle, vessel, or nerve, had been 
sought out, and found under the investi- 
gator’s knife, yet the greatest of all mys- 
teries remained undiscovered. Might it 
not be the lot of some of those then listen- 
ing to his lecture to add to the history of 
science, and to the glory of medicine, the 
discovery of the soul or the spirit? From 
the earliest recorded days, the spirit had 
been considered an invisible embodiment 
of the form and features of man. It had 
its seat, according to the popular fancy of 
the day, in the brain, heart, or stomach. 
It imbued us with life; it gave form and 
intelligence to our thoughts and actions. 
If in these later days, the idea of a spirit 
gave way to a consideration of the origin 
of life, it was because we were desirous of 
throwing aside superstition and of emerg- 
ing into the broader though scarcely more 
tenable field of realism. 


16 THE SOUL OF HENRY HARRINGTON 


I must confess that I was thoroughly 
imbued with the old and Biblical view that 
the spirit dwelt within us. Where? This 
was the question that I determined to solve, 
if such a solution could be reached by hu- 
man endeavor. I formed a theory, and to 
that theory bent every effort and every 
thought, staking my whole future upon the 
successful demonstration of its truth. 

So far as modern research had gone, the 
nervous system seemed to be the nearest 
approach to life that we were able to find, 
and the fact that shortly after death mus- 
cles will react to an electrical stimulus, 
much as they do in life, confirmed me in 
the belief that therein lay the secret of 
life — the spirit — and not in the heart, or 
the brain, or elsewhere, as older writers 
would have us believe. Now the question 
arose, how was I to reach this ultimate 
principle of life. I believed that the spirit 
invaded and formed a part of every por- 
tion of the human body, even as the nerves 
did, only it must be in an invisible form. 
Suppose I could successfully remove every 
portion of the body except the nervous 
system in all its minutest ramifications and 
anastomoses, would I not have a human 
form composed of nerves? And suppose 


THE SOUL OF HENRY HARRINGTON 17 


I could still further strip these nerves of 
their various coverings — you recollect 
how we used to struggle with their names, 
neurilemma, epineurium, endoneurium, 
etc. — and finally by removing the imme- 
diate sheath of each nerve, the white sub- 
stance beneath it, and at last reaching the 
minute axis cylinder which is in itself of 
microscopic size and almost indiscernible 
to the human eye, would I not have a 
model of the human body that was well- 
nigh invisible? And, at last, if I could 
separate these axis cylinders (I know you 
understand me and will pardon my adher- 
ing to technical terms) into their primitive 
fibrillae, with a diameter of one ten-thou- 
sandth of an inch, I should have an in- 
visible human form answering all the 
requirements of a spirit if it but had life. 
I argued to myself that, for a considerable 
portion of time after death, the spirit must 
remain in the body, and it was only after 
the remaining portions of the body had 
undergone decomposition and resolution 
into their elements that the imperishable, 
or spirit, portion was set free. It was 
capable of being held in check and was 
prevented from action by certain processes 
followed by death, but this power of life 


18 THE SOUL OF HENRY HARRINGTON 


was held in abeyance only till the causes 
of its restraint were removed. 

Having started with this as my theory, 
I was indefatigable in my work. Body 
after body was experimented upon. Being 
unable to secure them in sufficient numbers 
from the college, I often had recourse to 
grave robbing. I was succeeding beyond 
my expectations. Already I was so expert 
with knife, forceps, scissors, and chemicals, 
that I could dissect out the entire system 
of nerves, leaving nothing else behind; all 
I wanted now was a perfect subject for my 
final trial. I watched the death notices in 
the papers, determining that, if the proper 
opportunity afforded, I should have the 
subject of my selection at all hazards. One 
morning, while searching the paper, I was 
startled to find that Henry Harrington, a 
prominent young attorney of Philadelphia, 
had died suddenly, without a moment’s 
notice, and that he was to be buried the 
following day. I had known him quite 
well, though not intimately. He was a man 
of strong intellect and forcible character. 
Slightly erratic at times, he usually had 
definite ideas on most subjects, and his 
indomitable perseverance was fast winning 
him recognition and renown. 


THE SOUL OF HENRY HARRINGTON 19 


What pleased me most was that he was 
almost a perfect specimen of physical de- 
velopment. Nothing could have been more 
fortunate. Wasting disease had not had 
an opportunity to mar him, and I felt that 
this was the chance for which I had so long 
been waiting. I followed the body to the 
grave the next day, and noted the exact 
spot where it was laid. 

That same night, assisted by the old 
janitor of the college, whom you will 
doubtless remember, I succeeded in ex- 
huming the remains and secreting them in 
the room where I was to carry on my final 
experiments. The robbery was discovered 
the following day, and, owing to his popu- 
larity, a great effort was made to discover 
the ghoul who had committed the desecra- 
tion. I had no fear of the result, however. 
My room was too well hidden, and, besides, 
I had a spring trap door in the floor 
through which I could have gotten rid of 
it in an instant if necessary. Suffice it to 
say that the affair blew over, and nothing 
came of it except the result of my investi- 
gations. I can not tell you with what 
eagerness I entered into this, my last and 
supreme effort. I hardly know whether I 
ate at all, and as for sleep, I am sure that 


20 THE SOUL OF HENRY HARRINGTON 


from two to three hours a day was all that 
I allowed myself, and that, not because I 
wanted to, but because exhausted nature 
imperatively demanded it. Day after day 
my work progressed rapidly and satisfac- 
torily. The nerves had at last been en- 
tirely separated. It was a much more dif- 
ficult matter to get rid of their sheaths and 
reach the delicate filament called the axis 
cylinder, and when this had been accom- 
plished, it was infinitely more difficult to 
separate each into its fibrillae. My familiar- 
ity with the work, however, helped me 
through. Nothing could exceed the pa- 
tience with which I labored at its minutest 
detail. My subject assumed a more and 
more indistinct outline. I was convinced 
it was all there in form, but it assumed 
such an ethereal appearance that, at a dis- 
tance of a few feet, it was impossible to 
distinguish it. 

I was thoroughly disappointed, how- 
ever. It was not completely invisible; nor 
was there any evidence of life save what 
appeared at times to be a slight fluttering 
or tremulousness, though it was so indis- 
tinct that I was afraid I was mistaken. At 
first I was completely prostrated with the 
failure of my years of study and arduous 


THE SOUL OF HENRY HARRINGTON 21 


labor. My enthusiasm and courage had 
almost vanished when the solution of my 
theory flashed upon me. As long as my 
dissected nervous system was visible, in no 
matter how slight a degree, so long must 
there be material substance capable of 
restraining the action of the soul or spirit. 
I must get rid of it all if I wished my plan 
to succeed. I had exhausted my dissecting 
capabilities. Even with powerful lenses to 
aid me, it was impossible to go farther — 
but an acid! My brain fairly reeled as I 
thought of the possibilities. I immediately 
consulted with Doctor Ogden, professor of 
chemistry, and from him obtained a 
formula for preparing a solution which 
would instantaneously dissolve any organic 
tissue whatever. 

You can not conceive the trembling 
eagerness with which I applied a little of 
it to one group of nerves, nor my excite- 
ment when I found that apparently nothing 
remained. Rapidly I treated the entire 
system with my solution, dreading, yet 
longing, for the completion of my work. 
Would it all be for naught? Or would I 
demonstrate to the world that I had discov- 
ered not only the abiding place of the soul, 
but the soul itself? I had just finished my 


22 THE SOUL OF HENRY HARRINGTON 


work when suddenly, without warning, I 
found that a wonderful change had taken 
place in myself. I was no longer the person 
I was before. Sometimes my thoughts were 
clear and I could realize that my work was 
no longer before me. I could not see it, 
nor could I feel it as I reached out for it. 
Again, I had only a confused conception 
of what I had been doing. I wanted to 
remain and determine the end of my in- 
vestigations, but I was powerless to do so. 
A stronger will than my own turned me 
away. I could feel the struggle going on 
within me, yet felt my own helplessness 
and inability to come to a conclusion that 
I desired. I did that which I felt I did not 
want to do; yet why, I could not tell. How 
or why I left the room, I do not know. I 
felt that I should never return to it, and 
indeed I never did. 

When, at last, I found myself in the 
street, I felt so much like my old self that 
I decided to return to my room and find 
out what had become of what I believed 
to be the soul of Henry Harrington. I even 
turned about to retrace my steps, but that 
was all. It was simply impossible to do as 
I wished. A stronger will than my own 
dominated my actions and compelled me to 


THE SOUL OF HENRY HARRINGTON 23 


go to my apartments on Thirty-fourth 
Street, where I had been living for the past 
year. 

I soon became conscious that those 
things which had become mechanical with 
me in their performance, took place just 
as usual, but the moment an effort of will 
or decision was attempted, a struggle took 
place within me. Trifling points that would 
formerly have been settled the instant they 
arose, would often call for a protracted 
argument pro and con. Though at times I 
noticed an entire absence of this mental 
conflict, yet in the majority of instances I 
found myself deciding to pursue just the 
course that my own mind told me not to. 

I thought perhaps this condition would 
pass away with a good night’s rest, and 
relief from the intense mental anxiety to 
which I had been subjected, but the follow- 
ing day found my error; and even my 
former friends and associates began to 
notice a peculiarity in my actions, which 
were often at strange variance with those 
which they were accustomed to see in me. 
Instead of being reserved and quiet, as be- 
fore, I became a frequenter of the clubs, 
and social gatherings which had before 
been excessively stupid and a bore to me 


24 THE SOUL OF HENRY HARRINGTON 


had an unnatural fascination which I could 
not resist. 

It was not without many a sad and 
hopeless struggle that I thus found myself 
changing from all that my ambition had 
led me to hope for. God knows what pain 
it cost me to see my intense love for medi- 
cine and its collateral sciences dominated 
and subdued by an unknown yet no less 
powerful force that was carrying me from 
my professional aspirations so rapidly that 
already there were but few left. 

I was becoming slightly dissipated and 
fond of gambling, not so much for the love 
of money, but in a reckless daredevil way 
that would have soon left me a beggar had 
it not been for an immense legacy left me 
by my mother’s brother. 

A glimpse of the truth had flashed 
through my mind, and, following it up to 
its logical conclusion, I became convinced 
that in my search for the soul of Henry 
Harrington I had met with a most terrible 
fate. I had indeed released it from the 
inanimate body which held it, but at the 
moment of doing so it had enveloped me, 
or been absorbed into me, I know not 
which, and it would be my lot to struggle 
through life against the supremacy of a 


THE SOUL OF HENRY HARRINGTON 25 


soul or spirit fully as strong, and in many 
instances stronger than my own. 

It was to be a constant warfare between 
the soul of Harrington and my own. As 
the full meaning of the situation forced 
itself upon me, I resolved that the struggle, 
however unequal, should not relapse into 
passive submission, but that every step of 
importance should be contested with in- 
creased energy and determination to con- 
quer. Perhaps ultimately I should be the 
stronger. I think it was this determination 
not to be conquered that kept me, at times, 
from ending a life which often seemed 
unendurable. 

It was about this time that I met Ensign 
Aldredge, of the Navy. He was home on 
leave, having just returned from a cruise 
on the Asiatic Station. We struck up a 
great friendship on the occasion of our first 
acquaintance, though I must confess that it 
was at a fashionable gambling house on 
Chestnut Street. I do not think he was in 
the habit of gambling, at least for any high 
stakes, but believe he had wandered in 
there to see what it was like. He was a 
handsome fellow, rather stoutly built, with 
square shoulders, blond hair and mustache, 
and a bright, manly, attractive face that 


26 THE SOUL OF HENRY HARRINGTON 


must have played havoc with many a ten- 
der heart. 

In the course of a few weeks we were 
on the most intimate terms. I had in- 
troduced him into my circle of acquaint- 
ances, and he had returned the compliment. 
He had confided to me the secret of his 
engagement to a beautiful Philadelphia 
girl and had shown me her picture, prom- 
ising that when she returned from a short 
visit in the country he would take me to 
call upon her. I can not describe the sen- 
sation that came over me when I first saw 
her photograph. There seemed to well up 
in me a wild, irresistible, passionate long- 
ing to call her mine, to crush that lovely 
form in a frenzied embrace, to drain those 
beautiful lips of their sweetness, to feel her 
fluttering heart against my breast, and to 
know that she was mine, body and soul. 
Ah ! I started back in horror at the thought. 
What manner of man was I to be thus 
coveting another’s dearest treasure, his 
plighted wife, and that other a friend who 
loved and trusted me! And yet, she must 
be mine; that one thought broke down 
every tie that bound me to honor, friend- 
ship and self-esteem. I knew that it was 
a stronger will than mine that dominated 


THE SOUL OF HENRY HARRINGTON 27 


me, yet resolved to balk it in the end or 
die in the attempt. I determined not to 
meet Miss Hargrave, that was the young 
lady’s name; yet when Aldredge called for 
me one evening to have me meet her, it 
was an absolute impossibility for me to 
refuse, and I made haste to accompany him 
with as much longing eagerness as though 
it was my future bride and not his that we 
were going to see. She was even more 
beautiful than my imagination had painted 
her, and as I watched with jealous eyes the 
tender welcome she gave my companion, 
I felt that he was my enemy, and a bitter 
hatred rose in my heart against him. Mine 
she must be if all the world were against 
me. The world could well be lost if but 
for one moment I felt those soft round 
arms about my neck, and felt that lithe 
form against mine, and those full red lips 
answering my caresses. 

I shall not attempt to describe her to 
you. I can not. Even now I can scarcely 
talk of her and be calm, and if I should 
attempt to recall those treasured features, I 
fear I should be unable to continue my 
narrative. 

Though I exerted myself to my utmost 
that evening, I do not think I made any 


28 THE SOUL OF HENRY HARRINGTON 


further impression upon her than that I 
was a good talker and an agreeable caller. 
I dreaded the time for leaving, and has- 
tened rather unceremoniously out of the 
door, in order that I might not endure the 
agony of witnessing even the slightest of 
tender love passages between them. Our 
way home was pursued in silence — he 
thinking of her we had just left, and I try- 
ing to subdue a terrible temptation to make 
this the last time he should ever see her. 

It was with infinite relief that I at last 
reached my rooms and bade him good- 
night. I did not attempt to sleep. All 
night I struggled against the evil spirit that 
was leading me astray, and when morning 
came I was wide awake, conscious that for 
the present I must submit to the inevitable 
and pursue the course which destiny 
seemed to have mapped out for me. 

In the days succeeding I became, on one 
pretext or another, a frequent caller at the 
house of my friend’s fiancee, sometimes in 
his company, more often alone. Though 
the effort cost me dearly, I succeeded more 
and more in riveting his friendship to me, 
to the end that I might the more surely 
work his destruction. Gradually I endeav- 
ored to work him into the toils of a fast 


THE SOUL OF HENRY HARRINGTON 29 


set, to lead him beyond his depth in drink- 
ing and gambling, but it was useless to 
attempt it. He always seemed to know 
where to draw the line, and never failed 
to stop at the right moment. I wonder 
now that he did not see through my shal- 
low pretenses of friendship and become 
disgusted with my manner of life. 

We had both received invitations to a 
dancing party to be given at Miss Har- 
grave’s, and, of course, had both accepted. 
Fortunately for me, Aldredge succeeded in 
spraining his ankle the day of the party, 
and, as his sympathizing medical friend, I 
warned him against the great risk he would 
take were he to venture to leave his room 
that night, or indeed for several days to 
come. It was a great disappointment to 
him, but he succumbed to my argument 
that a sprained ankle was worse than a 
broken leg, and allowed me to bandage it 
up, and apply ice bags, and undertake the 
general care of the case. I even became 
the bearer of a message to Miss Hargrave 
(Edith, he called her), explaining his un- 
fortunate detention. It was with apparent 
reluctance that I tore myself away from my 
friend. I offered to remain and spend the 
evening, but, as I well knew he would, he 


30 THE SOUL OF HENRY HARRINGTON 


generously scouted the idea, and urged me 
to go, take his message to her, and try to 
cheer her up, and make such amends as I 
could for his absence. 

There was such an unselfish, unsuspi- 
cious love for me and for her in this splen- 
did fellow’s manner of speaking of us that 
I was on the point of throwing off the cloak 
of friendship and showing myself to him 
in all my loathsome hypocrisy; but the 
good intent of my own spirit was smoth- 
ered before it had fairly taken form, and 
I left him, determined to make that night a 
milestone in my road to Edith Hargrave’s 
heart. 

The party was a grand success, the 
music was entrancing, the decorations 
superb, and the throng of beautiful women 
and attentive men formed a picture such 
as one rarely sees save at some such fash- 
ionable gathering. As for me, I had eyes 
and thoughts for but one. Ah! how ex- 
quisitely beautiful she was that night. 
Every nerve within me seemed to find a 
new sensation, and my whole body thrilled 
with an indefinable pleasure as I watched 
her. I did not seek her out until I was 
satisfied that I could monopolize her time 
without causing comment. She seemed so 


THE SOUL OF HENRY HARRINGTON 31 


pleased to see me as I accosted her and 
asked for a promenade that I felt myself 
elated and happy. Leisurely we made our 
way to the conservatory, and finding it 
unoccupied, I persuaded her to rest for a 
few moments in the deliciously cool and 
fragrant room, before returning to the 
heated parlors where the dance was pro- 
gressing. 

She was evidently disappointed and 
hurt that Aldredge had not come or at 
least written to her. Instead of delivering 
his tender message I told her that he was 
perfectly well and able to be out, but for 
some reason had decided at the last mo- 
ment not to come. She showed an indis- 
position to talk further concerning Al- 
dredge, and we drifted gradually into a 
dangerous channel of conversation. She 
told me her history with all its little pleas- 
ures and follies, and I, conjuring up a 
fictitious though pathetic tale of withered 
love and crushed ambition, moved her to 
such gentle sympathy that I felt her warm 
soft hand unconsciously steal into mine, 
and nestle there in token that she felt and 
appreciated what I had suffered. Before 
she could withdraw it, or even before she 
was conscious of what she had done, I had 


32 THE SOUL OF HENRY HARRINGTON 


seized it in an eager grasp and pressed 
upon it a hundred burning kisses. And 
then I dropped it and awaited the knell 
that was to sound my banishment from her 
presence. But alas! it was not to be. My 
evil spirit was in the ascendant. Whether 
it was that she read the love, the adoration 
that was burning in my heart, and recog- 
nized an answering throb in her own, or 
whether it was merely in pique at being 
neglected by Aldredge, I know not, but 
there was no anger in her soft glance as I 
dared to lift my eyes to hers. Emboldened 
by her forbearance I seized her hand again, 
and would have poured out my love to her 
and ruined my soul, had she not quickly 
withdrawn it, and, rising with a startled, 
beseeching look, moved toward the parlor. 
Without saying a word I followed and 
offered her my arm. She placed her hand 
upon it and I felt its trembling pressure 
with a supreme and indescribable happi- 
ness at the thought that I had been its 
cause. She was taken from me immedi- 
ately upon reaching the room, and I had 
no further opportunity of conversing with 
her until it was time to say good-night. I 
had waited till the last, and as I said good- 
night, I asked her forgiveness for my rash- 


THE SOUL OF HENRY HARRINGTON 33 


ness. “I have nothing to forgive,” she mur- 
mured, and as I took her proffered hand 
and felt its hesitating pressure I thought I 
read in those wonderful eyes that my love 
was fast finding an answering sentiment 
in her. 

I can not say that I had acted as I did, 
throughout the evening, without a thought 
of the wrong I was committing. I knew full 
well what I was doing, and though I de- 
spised myself, I was utterly unable to do 
otherwise. I was urged on by a power that 
was irresistible, and I knew that it was the 
spirit of Harrington that was dictating my 
actions. When I reached home that night, 
the feeling of delirious and reckless intoxi- 
cation subsided, and I calmly reviewed my 
thoughts and actions of the past fe\y hours. 
For the time I felt that I was master of my- 
self, and revolved in my mind how best I 
should conquer that terrible incubus which 
had thus far made my life a wretched 
mockery of what it had once promised. In 
desperation I went to my medicine chest 
and took from it a vial of morphine, feel- 
ing that therein lay a refuge from perfidy 
and dishonor, and debated whether the 
time had come for me to use it. There was 
such a satisfaction in feeling that with this 


34 THE SOUL OF HENRY HARRINGTON 


in my possession I could master any spirit 
or soul, I cared not how great or strong, 
that I gloated over my precious vial, and, 
placing it in my pocket, resolved that the 
time had not yet come. I would struggle 
a little longer. 

The following day I visited Aldredge 
and found him somewhat better, so much 
so that I knew he would be entirely re- 
covered before the end of the week. He 
was full of anxious inquiries about Edith 
and the ball. To his questions about the 
former I gave very vague replies, but en- 
larged upon the subject of the party in the 
hope of diverting his attention. He ap- 
peared thoughtful and disappointed, but 
said nothing further than that, if I could 
find the time, he would like to have me 
call and tell Edith that he was better, and 
would soon see her himself. 

I am almost ashamed to tell you how 
I carried out his request, how I almost im- 
perceptibly poisoned her mind against my 
friend, and pressed my own suit to a speedy 
issue. Before the end of the week she had 
broken her engagement and returned her 
ring. Poor Aldredge ! I do not know how 
the blow struck him. It was so sudden, so 
unexpected, without any explanation! It 


THE SOUL OF HENRY HARRINGT6N 35 


was cruel in the extreme. I avoided his 
presence, but knew that he had called on 
Miss Hargrave and been refused admit- 
tance to her presence. Fortunately for me, 
he was ordered to sea on the Lancaster, 
which was to sail immediately for the 
Mediterranean Station. I called on him 
before he left. I do not think he had even 
a suspicion in his generous mind of the 
damnable part I had played in his unfor- 
tunate affair. His unspoken grief and 
despondent look touched me keenly. I 
even made a faint effort to tell him of what 
I had done, but it was useless, and he left 
me with a warm grip of the hand, and a 
“God bless you for your kindness, old 
fellow!” that made me feel the lowest, 
blackest wretch that ever sullied the fair 
bond of friendship. 

Each day, after that, found me making 
love to the fair and beautiful Edith, and it 
was not long ere she had placed her hand 
confidingly in mine, and, in answer to my 
burning declaration of love and adoration, 
had promised to be mine. I was in a whirl- 
pool of excitement, and though moments 
of self-abhorrence and mental despondency 
would sometimes seize me, yet I felt a spirit 
revelling in its conquest and glorying in 


36 THE SOUL OF HENRY HARRINGTON 


its dishonest defeat of a noble rival. I had 
urged an early day for our marriage and 
she had consented. There was a restless- 
ness about me as the day approached that 
nearly drove me crazy. In her presence all 
else was forgotten. I was her adoring 
slave, her loving master, and I fancy that 
I must have startled her many a time with 
the terrible strength and pathos of my love 
for her. But when away from her, there 
was a growing feeling gaining strength day 
by day that our marriage would neVer be. 
I knew it was my old self asserting its 
former mastery over me, and yet it seemed 
to me to be too late. Already I had sacri- 
ficed my dearest friend upon the altar of 
my unfaithfulness. Must I ruin another 
life and cast away a love that was dearer 
to me than life itself, aye, dearer than the 
promise of Heaven, the hope of the here- 
after? More than once I had taken that 
little vial from my pocket, resolved to end 
it all, but as often had returned it, and at 
last defiantly thrown it away, determined 
to let the fight go on. 

During the week preceding the date 
fixed for our wedding, I felt dazed and 
helpless. I knew then what the end would 
be, and oh! who can paint in words my 


THE SOUL OF HENRY HARRINGTON 37 


tortured feelings as I clasped my darling 
Edith in my arms and watched her trust- 
ing look and happy smile, and knew that 
it was I who was to deal her the cruelest 
blow that ever her gentle heart should feel. 
I knew that she loved me with all her soul, 
and yet I felt that if she but realized what 
manner of man I was the glamour of in- 
fatuation would clear away and she would 
despise me, as I so justly deserved. Per- 
haps I am magnifying the wrong I com- 
mitted in stealing her love for myself, but 
my former convictions on such subjects 
were very strong. 

The night before we were to be married, 
I called for the last time on Edith Hargrave. 
I knew that the time had come, but I did 
not realize the terrible mental struggle 
through which I was to pass. She entered 
the room dressed in some light shimmering 
stuff that faintly showed her lovely arms 
and neck, looking so radiantly beautiful, 
so supremely happy, that my heart seemed 
to stand still for a moment in frightened 
contemplation of the wreck I was soon to 
make of the life of this tender, fragile 
being. Silently I clasped her in my arms, 
almost crushing her in my frenzied em- 
brace, and covered her lips, her eyes, her 


38 THE SOUL OF HENRY HARRINGTON 


neck, her hair, with kisses so thick and fast 
that she scarce could breathe, and then, 
without one word of love or endearment, I 
released her, and, motioning her away from 
me, I poured forth my self-accusations, my 
baseness, my unworthiness. I told her, of 
Aldredge’s noble love, of his heroic nature, 
and then — I hardly know what happened 
then — I told her that I sailed for Europe 
that night, that in the future I would be as 
the dead to her, but that my heart would 
have no room for any image save hers till 
it rested in the grave. ' I remember see- 
ing her grow pale, and gasp and struggle 
at her throat, and she would have fallen 
had I not caught her and laid her tenderly 
upon the sofa. She had fainted, and I 
hastily left the room, not even stopping to 
press one last kiss upon those dear lips, but 
rang for the servant, and, closing the door 
behind me, I left there all that made life 
worth the living. I cannot tell you the 
anguish I suffered in the days that fol- 
lowed. I had taken passage for Europe 
that same night. I was like some one living 
in a frightful nightmare, always seeking to 
avert a catastrophe, yet ever on the verge 
of one. I recollect that my actions were 
so strange as to arouse the suspicion of my 


THE SOUL OF HENRY HARRINGTON 39 


fellow passengers, and I even came to feel 
that I was being followed and watched lest 
something might happen. More than once 
did I steal out of my room at night and 
stealthily find my way up on deck, deter- 
mined to bury myself and my sorrow in the 
merciful quiet of the ocean; but it was use- 
less to attempt it. Even as I longingly 
leaned over the ship’s side and saw the 
waves leaping up and throwing salt spray 
against my face as if enticing me to come, 
there would steal over me a self-conscious- 
ness that it could not be, and I would go 
back to my room cursing the fate that 
would not let me die. 

Before leaving, I had mailed a letter to 
Aldredge telling him of my perfidy, and of 
my intention to start for Austria. I did 
not attempt to excuse myself nor to ex- 
plain my reasons for acting as I had done. 
I did not expect his forgiveness; indeed I 
did not wish it, for, in a vague, unreasoning 
way I still held him to be the cause of all 
my trouble. 

When we reached Havre, I took the 
first train for Paris, and spent a week there 
indulging in every form of dissipation that 
plenty of money and a reckless spirit could 
devise. There was growing on me a wild 


40 THE SOUL OF HENRY HARRINGTON 


desire to return home and to seek Edith 
once more. I could scarcely master it at 
times, and though I would down it for a 
moment in my carousals, yet in the few 
calmer intervals that I knew, it would force 
itself upon me with ever increasing per- 
tinacity. Fearing lest it should in the end 
gain the mastery over me, I determined to 
travel continuously, hoping that the con- 
stantly changing life would help to render 
me oblivious of the past. Eventually I 
found myself in Vienna, the Paris of 
Austria, and it was while there that I nearly 
lost my life in an encounter with Aldredge. 
I do not know how he learned that I was 
there, but he had found it out in some man- 
ner, and, securing leave from his vessel, at 
Nice, came to look for me, for he rightly 
concluded that I was indulging in some of 
my old orgies. It was at a bal masque that 
I first saw him. I was attired as Romeo, 
in grim satire of my real character. He 
wore no masque, and I knew in a moment 
that he was searching for me. I do not 
know what evil spirit possessed, me to 
speak to him. I seemed to gloat over the 
misery I had caused him. “For God’s sake! 
is that you, Ernst?” he cried, as I pulled 
off my mask. He grasped me tightly by 


THE SOUL OF HENRY HARRINGTON 41 


the arm and led me half resistingly out of 
the room down the stairs and out into the 
court. “I want to speak to you alone,” he 
said. “I could not control my feelings 
enough to speak to you up there.” Much 
to my surprise he did not manifest any 
particular animosity toward me. He had 
come to learn from my lips the true story 
of Edith’s falseness to him. I told him, not 
omitting a single incident, dwelling upon 
the progress of my courtship, and on the 
manner in which I had deliberately won 
her from him. I took a keen delight in 
watching, in the dim gas light, the changes 
in his countenance, and noting the growing 
anger in his eyes, which reached its culmi- 
nation when I told him how I had cruelly 
left her at the moment when her happiness 
was to be made complete. 

After a moment’s struggle with himself 
he turned to me and said: “You have 
wronged me deeply, Ernst, and the wrong 
was the greater since it was done to a 
friend, but I have only pity and contempt 
for you. I shall try once more to win 
Edith Hargrave’s love, and if you come 
between her and me again, your life or 
mine shall pay the forfeit.” 

I had lost control of myself, and when 


42 THE SOUL OF HENRY HARRINGTON 


he spoke of winning Edith’s love again, my 
frenzy knew no bounds. I drew the dirk 
that hung at my side and, crying “Never! 
Never! You shall never marry her!” I 
plunged it into his side. Quick as a flash 
he drew a pistol and fired. I dropped to 
the ground unconscious, and when I next 
regained consciousness I was on the operat- 
ing table in Professor Billroth’s clinic. 
They had trephined my skull, I found out 
afterwards, and removed the bullet which 
had entered my brain. 

I remember but little of the weeks fol- 
lowing. I must have been delirious a con- 
siderable portion of the time; at least the 
nurses told me so. During some of my 
lucid moments I remember that I often 
found myself wondering who I was, and 
generally decided that I was Henry Har- 
rington. It must have been this hallucina- 
tion growing upon me and the confusion 
of my thoughts and actions consequent 
thereon, that led them to adjudge me in- 
sane as a result of some obscure brain 
lesion following the bullet injury. How- 
ever that may be, I was placed in an in- 
sane asylum and kept there for two years 
under the closest surveillance and treat- 
ment. I do not pretend to say that I re- 


THE SOUL OF HENRY HARRINGTON 43 


member all that happened during my con- 
finement in that place. Indeed I am free to 
confess that I believe now that I was insane 
at least the greater part of the time, and 
even after I was pronounced cured and 
allowed to depart I still, at times, had a 
feeling that after all it was Harrington and 
not I who was walking about in this body 
of mine. 

There was one thought that had been 
constantly before me, insane or sane, and 
that was that I must see Edith Hargrave 
once more. Now that my health was im- 
proved and I was free to do as I chose, I 
soon arranged my affairs and started once 
more for the United States. I have been 
here now for three weeks, wandering about, 
yet not daring to go to see her. I heard 
yesterday that Aldredge is back too. I hope 
for his sake and for mine that he will not 
attempt to renew his relations with Edith. 
★ **★**★★★ 

There was such a strange look on my 
friend’s face as he said this that I could 
not repress a shudder as I watched him. I 
was at a loss what to say or do. An un- 
pleasant feeling had crept over me while 
he related his past history, and I found 
myself questioning whether or not he was 


44 THE SOUL OF HENRY HARRINGTON 


not at present insane, and all he had told 
me the hallucination of a diseased brain. 
One thing against this, however, was the 
connected thread of his narrative. There 
were no breaks in it, no sudden transition 
from one subject to another, but a tale told 
unhesitatingly and unbrokenly, save when 
his emotion overcame him for a moment. 
I persuaded him to spend that day and 
night with me, and never for one moment 
did he recur to this subject, or give other 
evidence of mental derangement. 

The following morning he announced 
his determination of going to Philadelphia 
to see Edith, and no amount of argument 
or persuasion could alter his intention. 

It must have been a week or ten days 
after this that I noticed in the society col- 
umns of a Philadelphia newspaper the an- 
nouncement of the engagement of Miss 
Hargrave and Ensign Aldredge, U. S. N. I 
had almost recovered from the uneasy feel- 
ing that Ernst’s departure had given me, 
but this bit of news came like a shock to 
me and filled me with an undefined terror 
of impending evil. This feeling grew so 
strong upon me that I determined to run 
down to Philadelphia the next day and 
look Ernst up. Would to God I had gone 


THE SOUL OF HENRY HARRINGTON 45 


that day — how much misery I might have 
saved! The next morning it was too late. 
I arose earlier than usual and searched the 
morning paper for I knew not just what. 
I did not have to search far. In the morn- 
ing’s dispatches I read, “While returning 
from a reception at the Hargraves’, Ensign 
Houston Aldredge, U. S. Navy, was shot 
last night by a man giving the name of 
Henry Harrington. It is claimed by some 
who have seen him that he is a Doctor 
Ernst, formerly of this city.” 

The paper dropped to my feet, and the 
cold perspiration stood out upon my fore- 
head. I felt in a measure responsible for 
this terrible tragedy. 

I took the first train for Philadelphia 
and hunted up my poor friend at the jail. 
Alas! it was as I had expected. He was a 
raving maniac, violently and almost uncon- 
trollably insane. Aldredge eventually re- 
covered after a most critical illness, and, I 
have heard, married Edith Hargrave, 
though I do not believe she was worthy of 
him. Ernst, or Harrington, as he insisted 
upon calling himself, was never tried for 
his attempt at murder, but has been in an 
asylum ever since. 

I have gone to see him from time to 


46 THE SOUL OF HENRY HARRINGTON 


time, but have found no reason to believe 
that he is improving. If he is not possessed 
of a devil, the Soul of Henry Harrington 
must bear a very close relationship to one. 

January 21, 1890. 


Idolized 

















































































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IDOLIZED 


49 


IDOLIZED 

W E HAD been engaged but a month 
— this beautiful girl and I. A tu- 
multuous, uncertain, tantalizing, 
passionate courtship had preceded our 
engagement, and even now, with her own 
assurance that she had always meant to 
be mine, some time, if I persisted in lov- 
ing her, I could not help a little feeling 
of jealousy creeping in if she but smiled 
upon another; and my heart’s rebellious 
flutter would pain me till I would almost 
cry out in anguish if her finger tips re- 
mained in contact with those of her many 
admirers for one second longer than my 
jealous, exacting fancy deemed sufficient. 
I do not know why she should have loved 
me; surely I was never destined to make 
any one happy. Nervous, irritable, in- 
ordinately sensitive, delicate of frame, 
sprung from an old and honored family 
whose descendants were fast dying out, 
whose intermarriages had weakened the 
strong characteristics of our forefathers 
and fastened their baneful influence men- 
tally and physically upon the present gen- 
eration, I had only my position, a nature 


50 


IDOLIZED 


wrapped up in its adoration of the one 
being on earth whom it believed perfect, 
and a fortune sufficient to make the future 
secure, and to enable me to lavish upon 
my darling wife- to-be everything that she 
could desire or my pervading wish to 
please her could devise. 

For me there was no past, no future; 
all was in the beautiful present. My last 
thought at night was of her, my earliest 
waking moments teemed with visions of 
her sweet face, and all the day was devoted 
to her and to the furtherance of her hap- 
piness. 

When I was not with her, I was miser- 
able, unhappy, morose, and jealously sus- 
picious; when I was with her, I was ele- 
vated into a new world beautiful beyond 
all fancy, intoxicated by each simple token 
of her love till my very soul was on fire; 
and, overwhelmed by the tempestuous ex- 
hibition of my love and devotion, I would 
leave her, and seeking my own room give 
way to outbursts of joy and grief that in a 
woman would have meant hysteria, but in 
me they meant — No! I will not breathe 
what they meant, but I knew and I felt it, 
and pitied myself, and pitied her, and 
sometimes even felt that I must tell her. 


IDOLIZED 


51 


But if you have never been in love as I was, 
you could not know what that would mean. 
What? Tell her and risk my happiness? 
No, no, never! Rather even that her life 
should be forever blighted, rather that 
earth should be to her a hell, than that my 
blind worship should miss its mark and 
lose its idol. Selfish? Ah! God knows 
the struggles of my solitary hours, but they 
always ended the same way. She must be 
mine. Never through any word of mine 
should she suspect what the future had in 
store for her. In my most excited and 
exalted moments I had that control of my- 
self which prevented the fatal yet inevi- 
table revelation. Strange that she did not 
suspect! Perhaps she did, though never a 
word or sign escaped her sweet lips to 
make me suspicious. Gentle, quiet, queen- 
like, womanlike, in her love and devotion 
to me, reason could have found nothing 
more to wish for. Perhaps she too could 
read the future, and pitied as well as 
loved me. 

I can not tell you more of our engage- 
ment. My brain whirls with a delirious 
recollection of joy and pain at the very 
attempt at memory. I loved her, I idolized 
her, I worshiped her. She was my heaven. 


52 


IDOLIZED 


She was to become my hell ! Ah ! Is there 
a heaven? Then I lived in it during that 
month. Is there a hell? Then I am in it 
now and have nothing worse to fear. What 
was I saying? Oh, yes! We had been en- 
gaged one month, my sweetheart and I, and 
at her suggestion we were on our way to 
a little suburb to spend the day. We were 
on the station platform. The train would 
soon be due. Strange, how vividly I recall 
that moment and every detail of her as she 
stood there, from her pretty bonnet with 
pink roses, beneath which crept out the 
rebellious curls that caressed the pink and 
white of her soft skin to the dove-gray suit 
with its clinging lines, setting off her superb 
figure to marvelous advantage, and the 
dainty patent-leather tipped shoe that 
peeped out from beneath the skirt. Yet 
why should I not remember it? Did I see 
anything but her in all that station? Were 
the hurrying crowds of common people 
aught to me? My gazfe rested upon her 
alone. Like the fluttering bird charmed 
by the serpent, I saw only my beautiful 
darling. 

Suddenly a little breeze blew her hand- 
kerchief out of her hand and across the 
tracks. Before I could stop her she had 


IDOLIZED 


53 


darted after it. I sprang toward her. I 
heard the whiz of the locomotive, I heard 
her shriek of terror, and saw her pale, 
beautiful face as she was hurled to one 
side, and that was all I knew till the mon- 
strous engine had struck me down too. 

You know St. Vincent’s Hospital? Well, 
that is where they took me. Some brain 
injury, so I think I heard the doctors say; 
but they were not so wise as I. My brain 
was clearer than they thought. I knew the 
gray-robed Sisters that nursed me. I knew 
they thought me mad. Perhaps at times I 
was. You too would have been mad had 
you known that all you loved on earth was 
gone ; that the blue eyes of love were closed 
in death! that the warm lips which had 
caressed you were cold and senseless; that 
those warm, loving arms would never 
again clasp you in their embrace, or those 
soft, little hands smooth your throbbing 
pulses back to peace and quiet. Oh, God! 
How could I help but rave at the memory 
of it? How did I know she was dead? No, 
they did not tell me; they were afraid it 
would affect my poor, bemuddled brain. 
But I knew, I understood their quiet ways, 
their sympathizing looks and voices; I 
could read them only too well. If I asked 


54 


IDOLIZED 


of her, they bade me be quiet, told me that 
I became too excited. Once they lied to 
me and told me that she lived. They never 
did it again. It was wicked to torment me 
that way, was it not? I thought so. They 
said I nearly strangled the Sister who told 
me that lie. Well, it was not too much for 
such trifling with me. They watched me 
more carefully after that. Other doctors 
were brought in to see me. Physical re- 
straint was suggested, but I was too know- 
ing for that. I became so quiet, so gentle, 
so submissive, so repentant, that I deceived 
them, and yet they watched me more 
closely. One day I heard the surgeon say 
that they might try it. Try what! Some 
new deviltry perhaps. I would watch. But 
no, I slept. Curses on their medicines! I 
dreamed, and in my dreams she came. Her 
sad eyes looked down on me so compas- 
sionately; her gentle fingers rested on my 
forehead; her head bent over till her lips 
touched mine. Angels of heaven! Fiends 
of hell ! Must I endure this cruel phantom ? 
It seemed as though my whirling brain 
must burst as I struggled to rouse myself 
from this hallucination. 

It was strange, too, that this fancy 
should recur to me day after day, till the 


IDOLIZED 


55 


torture became unendurable — to waken 
and find her gone, to know it was all a 
dream! So strange, indeed, that I became 
suspicious. I would take no more of their 
quieting medicine, though I pretended to 
do so. I would see what they were doing. 
It was well I did so. A diabolic experiment 
they were making — trying to bring me 
back to reason by having some vulgar crea- 
ture impersonate my darling. How mon- 
strous! Ah, my poor, poor sweetheart! 
They shall not profane your idolized mem- 
ory for the sake of science. Let them take 
care! I was too cunning for them. I knew 
very well what they were doing. One who 
was mad would not reason it out as clearly 
as I. How I deceived them all! They 
thought I slept as she came to me, but I 
was watching her every motion; she was 
more slender than my love. Though the 
face was much like hers, there was a scar 
on her left cheek that had never disfigured 
my darling’s beauty. Why had they not 
covered that up? They were not very 
clever to think that my memory would 
have failed me there. I could not repress 
a cold shudder as her hand touched mine. 
I instinctively drew it away, and a pre- 
tended look of pain flashed across her 


56 


IDOLIZED 


treacherous face. What sacrilege to think 
I would return her wanton caress when I 
was pledged in life and death to the 
dearest, the purest, the most perfect woman 
that ever lived. Gould they not all appre- 
ciate my feelings when I should have come 
to know their deception? I would not 
permit it. Let them beware how they 
trifled further with me. I would not let 
them suspect that I knew their plot. But 
I would not submit forever. I would be 
generous. Three days should be the limit. 
Then my turn would come. How quietly 
and submissively I waited ! I schooled my- 
self to submit to her brazen efforts at simu- 
lated affection. I even permitted her to 
kiss my lips. But what a struggle! The 
third day had come. They thought me bet- 
ter, and so I was, for this day was to re- 
lieve me of my torment. Why were they 
not as wise as I? Why did they not keep 
her away that day? Ah fools! fools! It 
was not I, but they, who were mad! They 
did not see the knife I had secreted be- 
neath my pillow; they were not as cunning 
as I. Now let her come. The caress shall 
be warm this time, but it shall be her last. 
I can see her as she came toward me, 
quietly, softly, like a snake. She thought 



“ Then she arose and bent over me. ” 


% 















IDOLIZED 


57 


I was sleeping. She knelt at my bedside. 
Well, I let her pray; she needed it, for she 
would never kneel again. Then she arose 
and bent over me. She kissed me, and as 
the false warm lips pressed mine the die 
was cast, the blade flashed in the air, it 
buried itself in her bosom, the warm blood 
flowed over its hilt over my hand, onto the 
bed, and with an anguished look, as of the 
slain deer, she fell across the bed motion- 
less — dead. 

I raised my hand to wipe the cold sweat 
from my forehead. The blood smeared my 
face and glared before my eyes, and then — 
O hell of hells! my eyes opened; my mind 
cleared ! It was not a phantom, it was not 
an impostor, it was — 0 man ! 0 God ! O 
eternal damnation that I live to tell it ! — 
it was my darling sweetheart, my queen, 
my love, who lay there cold and dead; not 
by the cruel engine, but by this animate 
clay, this scum of earth they call a man, 
and that man — I! 


A Japanese Hell 


































































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A JAPANESE HELL 


61 


A JAPANESE HELL 

D URING the summer of 1882 while on 
duty on the U. S. Flagship Richmond 
on the Asiatic Station, we anchored 
in the harbor of Yokohama. Not that this 
has any particular connection with the ad- 
venture which I am about to relate, but it 
was from this point that Captain C., Lieu- 
tenant B. and myself started for a two 
weeks’ trip to Miyanoshita and the neigh- 
boring points of interest. 

Miyanoshita is a beautiful little Japa- 
nese village situated about forty miles 
inland, high up in that extremely romantic 
and famous range of mountains known as 
the Hakone Range. With this as an estab- 
lished point of rendezvous, we made nu- 
merous excursions into the mountains, and 
viewed with pleasure and wonder the mag- 
nificent scenery which was constantly 
opening before us. 

We had long contemplated a visit to 
Otometoge Pass, from which is to be had 
the finest view of the sacred mountain 
Fujiyama, attainable in Japan; but we had 
waited patiently until a suitable morning 
could be found, for the sky must be cloud- 


62 


A JAPANESE HELL 


less to see “Fuji” in all its grandeur. Such 
a morning at length arrived, and, accom- 
panied by our guides, each armed with a 
long bamboo staff, we started on our ex- 
pedition at five o’clock in the morning. 
After climbing several small ranges, we 
arrived at the base of Otometoge, and com- 
menced the ascent. 

The pass is five thousand feet above the 
sea level, and exceedingly steep, so that 
we were, at times, glad to avail ourselves 
of the aid of our guides, who got behind 
us and pushed us up as we clambered up 
the precipitous paths. Tired and panting, 
we at last reached the summit. What a 
sight met our gaze! What feelings of 
pleasure, wonder, amazement, awe — yes, 
even of reverence — chased each other 
through our minds as we looked across 
seven miles of an unbroken plain lying 
down there at the base of Otometoge, and 
saw rising from its midst, grandly alone, 
the sacred mountain, snow-capped Fuji- 
yama. 

Not a cloud had yet risen to hide its 
noble head, and the early morning sun, 
shining upon its diadem of sparkling snow 
and ice, impressed itself ineffaceably upon 
our imagination, and we could well forgive 


A JAPANESE HELL 


63 


those ignorant idolaters who made pilgrim- 
ages from all parts of the empire to bow 
down and worship before this noble 
mountain. 

For over an hour we remained there, 
watching the slowly forming clouds as they 
gradually gathered about the peak, seeming 
almost like white volumes of smoke thrown 
from the mouth of the crater which lies 
silent and slumbering there. Then with 
reluctance we retraced our path to the bot- 
tom of the Pass, and started across the 
Hakone valley to the mountain Ojigoku. 
Halfway across the valley is a cattle ranch, 
and, stopping there, we refreshed ourselves 
with plenty of sweet, rich milk, which is so 
difficult to obtain in Japan. 

Having thoroughly rested ourselves, we 
proceeded to the base of the mountain, 
where we were joined by Master H., who 
accompanied us in our climb up Ojigoku. 

Near the summit of the mountain are 
two basins, from one of which steam is con- 
stantly thrown out in large volumes. This 
steam is loaded with sulphur, which may 
he found deposited in considerable quanti- 
ties on the ground nearby. From the other 
basin but little vapor is emitted, though at 
one time it was as active as the other. These 


64 


A JAPANESE HELL 


two places are well named by the Japanese, 
being called by names which signify re- 
spectively “ Big ” and “ Little Hell.” 

Walking about here was rather danger- 
ous, for in many places we could push our 
staffs through the thin crust of earth, and 
their withdrawal would be followed by a 
volume of steam thrown up into the air. 
Master H., whose masculine beauty was 
somewhat marred by an extremely suspi- 
cious-looking red nose, had heard that some 
of the sulphurous mud to be obtained where 
the steam was being emitted would bleach 
the rosy color and restore it to its pristine 
state. Accordingly, at imminent risk to life 
and limb, he worked his way to the edge 
of the caldron and secured a lump of hot 
clay, which, without properly cooling, he 
applied to his nose. I have witnessed the 
hula-hula of Tahiti, the siva of Samoa, the 
war dance of the Zulus, but they all merged 
into insignificance when compared with 
that executed by Master H., as he franti- 
cally endeavored to get that hot and sticky 
poultice from his nose. At last he suc- 
ceeded; but, alas! his martyrdom had been 
unavailing, for there it shone brighter, 
rosier than before. But let me draw a 


A JAPANESE HELL 


65 


pitying veil over his misfortune. I have 
my own to relate. 

Before proceeding farther, I will state 
that the adventure about to be related has 
always been kept a secret by me, even from 
those who were most intimately connected 
with it, for I feel justified in saying that I 
have always enjoyed a good reputation for 
veracity, and I have not been willing to risk 
injuring it by relating what may, to some, 
appear most improbable and incredible. 
But the thoughts of it have haunted me for 
so long that I am no longer able to re- 
strain myself from telling it exactly as it 
occurred, and my reputation must now 
stand the test of the criticism of my friends. 

Unmindful of the frequent cautioning 
of our guides, that I must stay near them, 
as there was danger of breaking through 
and scalding myself to death, I trusted too 
much to my own observations, and wan- 
dered off in the direction of Little Hell, 
till I had eventually separated myself from 
the remainder of the party. Becoming 
careless of my footing as I walked along, 
and forgetful of the guides’ instructions to 
test the ground before each step with my 
bamboo pole, I had nearly reached the 
point where vapor was issuing from Little 


A JAPANESE HELL 


Hell, when, without a moment’s warning, I 
felt the earth give way beneath me, daylight 
was lost, and I found myself falling, falling, 
I knew not where. My ears were ringing, 
my head felt as though it would burst, lights 
flashed before my eyes, I became uncon- 
scious, and eventually awakened to find 
myself lying on the ground, stiff and 
bruised, and sore; but as I cautiously en- 
deavored to move, I found that no bones 
had been fractured. Even a flask of brandy 
in my breast-pocket was uninjured. After 
lying there for some time, I managed to 
get upon my feet and survey the monstrous 
cavern into which I had so suddenly and 
unceremoniously fallen. 

To my right I noticed what seemed to 
be a wall lit up by a few pale-blue, flicker- 
ing lights. As I approached it, I found that 
these lights proceeded from pieces of sul- 
phur, which gave off their stifling fumes 
and rendered a closer inspection impos- 
sible; and, indeed, it was not desirable, for 
the atmosphere became so heated that it 
was with difficulty that I could approach 
as near as I did. 

Hastily leaving this uncomfortable lo- 
cality, I walked in the opposite direction 
and soon found it growing much cooler. 


A JAPANESE HELL 


67 


At first the darkness seemed impenetrable, 
but as I grew more and more accustomed 
to it, I secured a fair degree of vision. 
Wandering about in an almost aimless way, 
unwilling to stop, yet knowing not in what 
direction to go, I was startled by running 
against what I soon discovered to be a pile 
of human bones ! Most of them were bare, 
and shone with an unnatural whiteness, as 
the unearthly glare of those flickering sul- 
phur lights fell upon them; some still re- 
tained pieces of flesh, green and moldy with 
decomposition. As my foot struck against 
this strange heap, serpents darted out in 
every direction, hissing and writhing about 
my feet, squeezing their way out of the 
foramina at the base of the skulls, or 
darting their sharp-pointed heads from the 
orbits. Strangely, they were all green, none 
of them over two feet in length, and yet 
the most horrible and loathsome objects I 
had ever seen. 

At first I was horror-stricken and spell- 
bound with fear. Would they bite? Were 
they poisonous? Would I, too, soon be 
lying there dead, my bleaching bones my 
monument, my skull a resting place for 
these vile, writhing snakes? 0 God! what 
a moment of terror it was! But no; they 


68 


A JAPANESE HELL 


ran hissing about, angry at having been 
disturbed, yet leaving me unharmed, though 
trembling with fear and perspiring at every 
pore. 

I hastened away from this haunting 
sight, but from time to time I would stumble 
against similar piles of bones, startle the 
green snakes from their rest, and feel them 
running about my feet. Gradually I be- 
came in a measure accustomed to these 
scenes, and wandered on, wondering what 
would be the end. 

I can not tell you how long I wandered 
thus — hours and hours, it seemed to me — 
when I was horrified to hear a moan close 
by. Hurrying to the spot whence the noise 
emanated, I discovered, lying on one of 
those piles of skeletons, a human form. He 
was evidently a Japanese. A few white 
hairs yet grew from his glazed scalp, his 
open mouth showed three long yellow 
teeth, his eyes were deep-sunken and fixed 
in an expression of deepest misery, his skin 
drawn like parchment, browned with age, 
over his sharp features. Gangrene had 
set in in his lower extremities, his feet 
had fallen off, and there he lay with those 
green snakes crawling over him, writhing 
about his neck, protruding their long shiny 


A JAPANESE HELL 


69 


heads into his open mouth, while his nerve- 
less fingers faintly moved as though he 
would tear them from their hideous revelry. 

Ah! How that sight haunted me for 
weeks, and months, and even years! I 
wonder if it will ever be effaced from my 
memory. Was I a coward because I dared 
not assist him? Was I guilty of homicide 
because I left him there to die? I try to 
think not. He would have died anyhow. 
He could not have lived another day. I 
would only have endangered my own life, 
for that fear of those terrible snakes had 
taken possession of me. Fallacious rea- 
soning, do you say? Oh, no! It can not 
be, and yet, the horror of it. 

Sorrowful and despondent, I wandered 
on for miles, in what direction I could not 
tell. As I turned a sudden corner, I heard 
a weak voice call me. I sought for its 
owner, and found him lying on a mound 
of earth. He seemed too weak to talk, so 
I poured a little brandy down his throat, 
and under its stimulating effect he revived 
sufficiently to sit up, and after taking a 
little more was able to tell me, a little at a 
time, how he happened to be there. 

I shall preface his story by saying that 
I was extremely loath to believe it. I have 


70 


A JAPANESE HELL 


reason to believe that he concealed the truth 
from me, and that he relied upon the 
strange sights and surroundingsTo aid him 
in making me believe what I should have 
scouted and laughed at had I been safe 
above ground. 

However, here it is, apparently simple 
and straightforward. For crimes and 
wickedness during life he had been con- 
demned to hell after death. While his 
original body was undergoing the process 
of decay and decomposition, and his new 
body forming to clothe the spirit in hell, 
Satan was building a new hell , for the one 
first occupied had become so crowded that 
there was not room for all. Accordingly, 
he had moved his subjects into the adjoin* 
ing place, which this singular person 
claimed was bounded by that hot wall 
which I had first discovered. In the proc- 
ess of removal, many had been left behind, 
and my companion, upon finding himself 
endowed with a new body, discovered that 
he too had been left behind. 

The struggle for existence among those 
who remained was fierce and cruel, for 
without Satan they were not immortal. One 
by one they had perished by each other’s 
hands, their blood eagerly sucked for drink, 



“ For a moment he seemed to be endowed with supernatural 
strength as he grasped my clothes and clung to them in 
desperation. ” 



A JAPANESE HELL 


71 


their flesh gnawed from their yet warm 
bodies. He, alone, of all that crowd, re- 
mained alive, and he, too, at last, had lain 
down to die. Escape, he considered as 
hopeless, and it was not till I had excited 
him with repeated drafts of brandy that 
he consented to accompany me in my 
endeavors to find my way out. 

Together we dragged ourselves wearily 
along. He was so weak that many times 
I was forced to carry him on my back. At 
times, exhausted, we would lie down and 
sleep; then awakening, with despair and 
starvation staring us in the face, we would 
struggle along. My companion had become 
weaker and weaker, till he was unable to 
walk at all. What little progress was 
accomplished was made with him upon my 
back. The brandy had given out, and 
every hour I found myself growing per- 
ceptibly weaker. My burden was almost 
senseless, when, driven to despair by weak- 
ness and starvation, I laid him down and 
whispered in his ear “Good-by.” For a 
moment he seemed to be endowed with 
supernatural strength as he grasped my 
clothes and clung to them in desperation. 
How pitifully he begged me to take him 
with me! How he raved as I unloosened 


72 


A JAPANESE HELL 


his clenched hand and staggered away! 
My God! Must this, too, be added to my 
already overflowing cup? Was not one 
sacrifice enough? Yes, I deserved the name 
of coward then. Afraid to meet death ! 
Oh, if any of you have ever suffered the 
torments of despair and starvation, can you 
not forgive me for yielding to this tempta- 
tion, and leaving a fellow being to his fate? 
Is it not temporary insanity that drives us 
to commit such deeds? Had I remained, 
it would have been but to die with him. I 
could not carry him another step. Already 
I looked with famished eyes upon his bony 
limbs. I was the stronger. Another day, 
and I should have added cannibalism to 
murder! 

I can not tell how far I wandered after 
leaving him. I slept a little, I know. Thirst 
had supplanted hunger, and truly I suf- 
fered the torments of hell. Ah! what was 
that? Water! Would I live to reach it? 
Yes, there it was — a deep, narrow stream. 
Without a moment’s hesitation I threw my- 
self upon the earth, and drank long and 
deeply. Horrors, it was salty ! Had I filled 
my mouth with salt it could not have been 
more terrible. My already raging thirst 
seemed increased a thousandfold. Sud- 


A JAPANESE HELL 


73 


denly a happy thought flashed through my 
mind. One of my shipmates, Mr. W., had 
told me that he had bathed in Great Salt 
Lake in Utah, and that it was impossible to 
sink. I had heard the same said of the 
Dead Sea. I would see if this stream would 
hold me up. It was running with wonder- 
ful rapidity. Perhaps it had an outlet. 
Taking an old purse from my pocket and 
sticking a heavy jackknife through it, I 
threw it into the current. Hurrah! It 
floated. In an instant I had thrown myself 
upon the water. My head was not half 
submerged, and my body floated high upon 
the surface. That terrible thirst was fast 
playing havoc with my mind. I became 
unconscious through delirium. How long 
I floated I shall never know. It was all a 
blank to me. 

The first thing I recollect was a sensa- 
tion of choking, of strangulation. I opened 
my eyes and caught just a glimpse of 
blessed daylight as I sank beneath the 
water. Slowly, oh, so slowly, I came to the 
surface once more, and with the energy of 
desperation I struck out for the shore which 
was so near. 

The accident that had befallen me was 
easy of explanation. The stream into 


74 


A JAPANESE HELL 


which I had cast myself had an outlet into 
Yeddo Bay. As soon as it became suffi- 
ciently diluted with the water of the bay, its 
great buoyancy had been lost, and I began 
to sink. The water running into my mouth 
and nostrils had aroused me from my 
stupor. Straining every weakened muscle 
to its utmost, I at last waded and crawled 
upon the beach, where I fell, completely 
prostrated with exhaustion. There I lay 
for several hours, till some Japanese fish- 
ermen, landing near by, discovered me, 
and carried me to a tea house some miles 
inland. 

A short time after my sudden disap- 
pearance, B. and G. missed me, and re- 
turned immediately to search for me. Of 
course, their search was unavailing, and, 
at last, convinced that I had wandered off 
and been lost in the mountains, they re- 
turned to Miyanoshita to spread the alarm 
and offer rewards for my discovery. Days 
had passed, and all hope had been aban- 
doned, when a messenger from the tea 
house reached them, and informed them 
of my discovery, and of the precarious 
condition in which I was lying. In com- 
pany with Medical Inspector B. of our 
Navy, they soon reached me, and by care- 


A JAPANESE HELL 


75 


ful nursing, a restricted diet, and a natur- 
ally strong constitution, I was in time 
completely restored to health. 

Even to them I never disclosed the real 
truth. I was afraid they would think my 
brain affected by suffering. I invented a 
story about having lost my way, suffered 
from starvation, and, finally, in attempting 
to swim across an inlet, narrowly escaped 
drowning. 

Before closing my narrative I have only 
a word to say in regard to my theory of 
that singular place I had visited. I am of 
the opinion that there must be some open- 
ing to it, known only to the authorities, and 
that certain offenses are punished, and “in- 
convenient” persons disposed of, by being 
thus secretly and inhumanly buried alive. 





































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A Christmas Story 














A CHRISTMAS STORY 


79 


A CHRISTMAS STORY 

C HRISTMAS! God’s curses rest on 
Christmas and all its idolatrous pa- 
gan superstitions! Bah! The very 
mention of it sends the blood to my heart 
and slows my pulse, and makes a deathly 
sluggish feeling creep over me; a lump 
rises in my throat that I can not down; and 
a tight grip is fastened on my chest till I 
can not breathe. God! but I hate the day, 
the name, the idle crowds that gape open- 
mouthed in the windows, and jostle each 
other like so many silly ants as they crowd 
about the bargain counters and pick out 
the gewgaws for tomorrow! Christmas! 
That last relic of a dying Christianity! That 
glittering bait for feeble-minded religious 
enthusiasts! A time for rejoicing because 
the Savior was born! Why should I re- 
joice? Has he done one thing in all these 
years for me? Did I not follow in his lead 
for many, many years, like the other fools 
I knew? Did I not believe in him, and 
pray to him, and adore him as he wished? 
And yet he has cast me into hell, or made 
a hell on earth for me, and I must live. 
Well, must I? Let me think. 


80 


A CHRISTMAS STORY 


Christmas, three years ago ! I was 
happy then. Strange to think it possible! 
Not one day, one poor little moment, have 
I been happy since, and she was happy 
too, and even our little one-year-old was 
happy as he saw his first Christmas tree 
and reached out his tiny dimpled hands 
for the shining trinkets there. It makes 
me creep with loathing as I think how 
that false, beautiful woman had bound me 
in her treacherous fold. My wife! 0 God! 
Wipe' out that name, wipe out my mem- 
ory, and let me sink into a blissful obliv- 
ion. I once feared insanity; now, what a 
mercy it would be! God! if there be a 
God; Savior! if there be a Savior, hear 
my last prayer to thee. Blot out the past, 
and let the future be to me a blank; or, 
filled with phantoms, let my shriveled 
memory know nothing of the agony of the 
years now gone; or if thou canst not grant 
me this, strike me dead this Christmas eve, 
and let my poor, tortured soul lapse into 
its material parts — and so, the end. What! 
You will not? I thought as much. What 
idle folly for me to think it possible! How 
hard to rid oneself of all this childish su- 
perstition! But here is a friend, and as I 
look into its gleaming barrel, I see the 


A CHRISTMAS STORY 


81 


sweet messenger of death and peace that 
only waits my bidding. You will not re- 
fuse me when the time comes. You are 
all powerful; you can give me rest when 
no other can. Then why should I not wor- 
ship you? Ah, perhaps I do. Why should 
she have left me that Christmas day? Had 
I not been kind and good to her? Did I 
not love her with all the wild devotion of 
idolatry? And yet she left me without one 
little word of love or farewell; left our 
little darling — all that woman should hold 
most dear. Oh, false, lying Laura! Until 
that night, not one shadow of suspicion had 
ever entered my mind regarding you. Since 
then, I have heard nothing from you — 
where you went, or where you are. I do 
not know, nor do I care. Why should the 
memory of a faithless wife disturb my 
mind? And yet it does. Neither day nor 
night is the vision of you, whom I loved, 
absent from me. If it only were, perhaps 
I might know some peace. I hate you; I 
despise you; I loathe you. O God! I love 
you. Ay, there is the secret that drives me 
to madness. Never have I let myself speak 
it since that fateful night, nor would I to- 
night, but it may be my last night of battle 
with life, and I must say it again and again. 


82 


A CHRISTMAS STORY 


I love you, Laura. I love you! I love you! 
Come back to me, sweetheart, just one 
moment, till I tell you I forgive you, and 
forgiving you, let me die. 

Hush! What is that noise? My poor 
nerves are all unstrung. Ah! is that you, 
my child? Looking for Santa Claus? 
Come, kiss me, little one. I have been a 
poor father to you these four long years. 
You will not miss me much when I am 
gone. I have tried to steel my heart against 
you because you were her child, and 
to choke down the love that sought to find 
a growing place. Next year, some good 
friend will send Santa Claus here, and 
make up for all these neglected years. 
Good-night, my child; good-night forever, 
my darling little boy. There; he is gone, 
and I am alone once more. The last tie 
has been severed, and I might as well bid 
the world good-by. Let me look at you, 
my silent friend, and see my haggard face 
reflected in your polished barrel, and feel 
your cold muzzle against my feverish face. 
One little pull — how simple a thing ! But, 
wait a moment, my trusted friend. I hear 
a fumbling at the door; some one is com- 
ing. We two must be alone when I say 
farewell. What! Laura, Laura, you there? 



“ Good-night, 
little boy. 


my child; good-night forever, 

y y 


my darling 




























































A CHRISTMAS STORY 


83 


Am I sane, or has God answered my pro- 
fane prayer? Come to me, Laura. Come 
to me, pet. I love you. Don’t you know 
it? You want to explain first? No, no! Do 
not wait. I am dying for want of you, 
Laura. Come, sweetheart, come. You 
thought me false, and so deserted me? 
You have always been true to me, and 
know now that I am true to you. I do not 
understand it yet, but I have you, and here 
in my arms I hold against my breast my 
darling wife. Forgive me. Let us both 
forgive, and here upon my bended knees 
I bow in grateful thanks to that divine God 
and Savior who made the Blessed Christ- 
mas; who has sent me for a Christmas 
present that most priceless of all treasures 
— a true and loving wife. 


































































♦ 


























Pete 





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✓ 



























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PETE 


87 


PETE 

P ETE was not an ordinary boy in the 
true sense of the word. Some way or 
other it did n’t seem as though he had 
had even a ghost of a chance for a fair deal 
in the battle of life. His parents had been 
so wretchedly poor and his mother, poor 
woman, who loved and almost worshiped 
baby Pete, had had a hard struggle, too, 
since her marriage. The joy of her life, 
except her love for Pete, had soon died out, 
and with sickness and poverty and that 
wretched persistent cough she had soon lost 
the delicate flush and soft skin, and now 
those big brown eyes, just like Pete’s, only 
so sunken and sorrowful, were all that re- 
mained to show that she had once had 
claims to beauty. Even before the love and 
life had gone out of those eyes forever, lit- 
tle Pete had begun to have trouble in his 
back; the poor little spine had begun to 
bend; and the poor little chap with the big 
brown eyes and the hungry, longing ex- 
pression had become a little hunchback. In 
time came a new mamma and still less care, 
till one day while he was hurrying his lit- 
tle, bent form across the street, a big wagon 


88 


PETE 


ran over him, and then the ambulance 
came and carried the pale, silent, fragile, 
baby-like little fellow to the hospital, where 
the doctors saw him and tried so hard to 
save his leg, which had been crushed by 
the heavy wagon. But it was no use, and 
so one day Pete went to sleep breathing 
some sweet, sickening perfume the doctors 
asked him to smell, and when he woke up 
his little face was more pinched and paler 
still, and a look of agony had crept for the 
moment into those big and longing eyes; 
and Pete’s foot was gone, and for the rest 
of his life there was only one weak leg 
and a crutch to carry his crooked body 
about. 

But if Pete’s body was crooked, there 
was nothing else about him that could be 
called so, and his mind that had grown 
so fast was so pure, and his heart so true, 
and his whole infant character so loving, 
trustful and so pathetically uncomplain- 
ing, that every one loved him; and the 
Sisters and nurses and doctors all did what 
they could to make his life in the hospital 
as painless, and happy, and full of cheer 
as his brave little spirit deserved. When 
he could hobble about on his crutches from 
bed to bed, many a poor sufferer learned 


PETE 


89 


to love the winsome, pure-souled little chap, 
and learned, too, to follow the child’s brave 
example of uncomplaining heroism. It 
was not because he was too young to know 
what it all meant to him; for his mind, pre- 
cocious as the minds of such children are 
wont to be, seemed to realize all the future 
meant for him; and he, having known lit- 
tle but sickness, and poverty, and suffer- 
ing, in the past, thought that surely this 
great big world must have something 
bright and happy by and by for one who 
tried to be brave, and good, and truthful. 

They had all been so kind to him that, 
when the time came for him to leave the 
hospital, he felt as though there were great 
big strings tied about his little heart, and 
a big lump filled his throat and choked 
him; and, no matter how brave he tried to 
be, he could n’t keep the tears out of those 
big, appealing eyes. But he went manfully 
home where the loving friends he had made 
were so sadly missed, and where in their 
wretched economy the parents almost re- 
sented the crippled burden that had been 
returned to them. The time came very 
soon when Pete was forced to do his share 
toward making a living; and what could 
the poor little crippled fellow do but stand 


90 


PETE 


on the big street corner with a bundle of 
papers almost as big as himself? Indeed, 
he succeeded fairly well; for though he 
couldn’t run and jump on the cars and 
race with the other boys, his manly way 
had won him new friends and many cus- 
tomers; and he had made friends with a 
poor deserted dog that became his constant 
companion, who saved him by his quick 
protection from the mischievous or mali- 
cious tricks of his fellow newsboys, and 
ran after and brought back many a penny 
that had slipped from his chilled, pinched 
fingers, and rolled off in the gutter. 

But things were n’t happy at home. 
Pete’s father sometimes drank, and then he 
abused everybody, and the new mother had 
little use for a crippled child, even if he 
did try in his gentle ways to show her that 
he wanted her to love him and to be good 
to him. 

So Pete’s only friend seemed to be just 
his faithful ragged dog, and the two be- 
came inseparable. One day when the 
snow and ice were on the ground, and 
the house was cold with lack of love and 
cheer, the two faithful friends went out 
together to sell their papers, and it hap- 
pened that one of Pete’s pennies rolled 



“ Pete's only friend seemed to be just his faithful 
ragged dog. 





PETE 


91 


away out into the street. In an instant the 
dog was after it, and as the boy watched 
the dog with laughing, appreciative eyes, 
he saw that the coin had fallen through an 
iron grating, and there the dog stood trying 
in vain to put his little black nose between 
the bars and bring the penny back to his 
master. The dog did n’t see the big motor 
coming, so intent was he on his duty, but 
Pete did, and he vainly called to the dog. 
But the noise was too great, the sweet 
voice was not very strong, and as the 
motor came crashing along, Pete dropped 
his great bundle of papers and with his 
one leg and little crutch flew to the rescue 
of his only friend. It was just too late, or 
too soon, for before it could be stopped the 
great car had crushed them both, just as 
his loving arms had been thrown around 
the poor dog’s neck. So they both died, 
and this poor little story of a real boy’s 
short life and manly struggles comes to an 
end with only the thought left for us older 
ones that there are lots of things we might 
be doing to make some one just a little bit 
happier in a world that is n’t so awfully 
happy for everyone anyhow. 
































































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An Old Story with a New Ending 




AN OLD STORY WITH A NEW ENDING 95 


AN OLD STORY WITH A NEW ENDING 

‘ ~jjT\ UT, Doctor, I must tell you.” 

“My dear Signorina, it is entirely 
unnecessary, I have been your physi- 
cian long enough to understand your case 
thoroughly, and I am quite sure nothing 
you can tell me will throw any further light 
upon it.” 

“But I must, I will — You don’t know 
me; you think you have studied me and my 
troubles till you know everything that bears 
upon my case, but you don’t. You have 
only known me for months, while I have 
lived, oh! so long; lived out one life of 
youth and happiness, and then another bit- 
ter life of folly, and despair; and now, well, 
Doctor, you know that I am trying to live, 
that is all. Just help me to live! I do not 
want to die. There is something yet left 
in life for me to do, and I must live, and 
I must be well and beautiful, for if I am 
not, and my beauty leaves me, then I want 
to die, Doctor, for I can accomplish nothing 
that I wish.” 

I gazed for a moment upon this woman, 
trying to forget that she was a sensitive, 
throbbing, beautiful girl, full of tender sus- 


96 AN OLD STORY WITH A NEW ENDING 


ceptibilities, brimming over with impetuous 
frankness and confidence toward one 
whom she had learned to believe her 
friend. I tried to forget that I was her 
friend and to feel only that professional 
interest which one is supposed to give to 
every patient. 

I felt that the excitement under which 
she was laboring was injurious to her, and 
that the additional strain of any confes- 
sions which she, in her exaggerated con- 
ception of what was necessary in a patient, 
might feel impelled to tell me, would only 
render her more hysterical, and render 
useless the soothing drugs I had ordered 
for her. I, therefore, steeled my heart 
against the woman, and turned to her 
again as her physician seeking for her 
best welfare. 

“My dear Signorina,” and I am sure my 
voice softened as I saw the tears glittering 
in her deep brown eyes, “I must insist upon 
your calming yourself. It is not necessary 
for you to rake over the ashes of the past, 
or wound your heart with a recital of your 
own or others’ wrongs. It would be an 
idle and cruel curiosity on my part if I 
were to permit it, and I assure you it would 
do you harm instead of good. You know 


AN OLD STORY WITH A NEW ENDING 97 


how much all your friends love you, and 
how anxious they are for your happiness, 
and you know that there is not one among 
them all who would believe anything but 
what was good and pure and beautiful in 
you, even if you were to say it yourself. 
You have lived among us too long, and 
your life has been too full of good and 
noble ambitions, and deeds of kindness 
and charity, to leave a loophole for any- 
thing else to creep in.” 

“Oh, you do not know, you are so good, 
so kind to me, and you must listen. I am 
not as good as you think, and you cannot 
understand if you will not let me talk. I 
need your help so much. Doctor,” and the 
tears that had been trembling between the 
long lashes began to find their way down 
her cheeks as if trying to quench the sud- 
den flame of agony and shame that 
mounted to them. “Listen to me now, and 
when I am done you shall tell me if I have 
not done right in telling you.” 

I was astonished at her insistence, and, 
fearful that the strong excitement might 
prove dangerous to her weakened heart, I 
took her wrist to feel her pulse. As I 
did so she seized my hand in her trembling 
grasp, and turning her blushing face so 


98 AN OLD STORY WITH A NEW ENDING 


that I could not watch her eyes she hurried 
on with her pitiful tale. 0 you men and 
women ! You who love, and you who wor- 
ship and are loved, with you rests the 
blame, with you rests the cure. What a 
weary life is that of the repentant Magda- 
lene! What a parody on all that is best 
and noblest in our lives is the easy re- 
turn to respectability of the man! 

“Let me hold your hand, or I may not 
have the courage to say all that I must, and 
if as you learn my life you despise me and 
condemn me, draw your hand away; but so 
long as I feel its kindly pressure I shall go 
on, feeling that your broader knowledge of 
life and human passions and tragedies will 
make you pity me and help me, even if 
you can no longer respect me. 

“I was born just out of Genoa, on a 
small estate which had descended to my 
father, who, as you know, belonged to the 
old aristocracy of Italy; but changes in 
politics had played havoc with most of his 
fortune, so that he lived in a very modest 
hut dignified way, holding himself some- 
what apart from the rest of the people, and 
devoting himself chiefly to the education 
of his two children, my brother Francesco 
and myself. From the time I was five 


AN OLD STORY WITH A NEW ENDING 99 


years old, when my mother died, I had 
only my father to look to for guidance and 
caution in life’s problems. At fifteen I had 
developed, as do most of our girls in Italy, 
into almost a woman, and yet I was only a 
child in the knowledge of the world. I had 
always been told that I was beautiful, and 
I took pleasure in knowing it, for I liked 
beautiful things. I liked the brilliant feath- 
ered birds and the gorgeousness of tropic 
colors, and I knew that my father loved 
me more because I was beautiful, like my 
mother, he said. Francesco loved me too, 
and told me many, many times how proud 
he was of his darling little sister, the most 
beautiful girl in all Italy. My love for my 
father and brother approached idolatry. 
I was of that nature that must love some 
one devotedly and unrestrainedly. 

“It was about this time that I met Count 
R., a handsome man of forty or more. He 
had called on business to see my father, 
and, being in the room as he entered, we 
were introduced. 

“He apparently did not notice me at 
first, but I soon saw that his eyes frequently 
wandered in my direction, and that he was 
paying but little attention to what my 
father was saying. Well, Doctor, I do not 


100 AN OLD STORY WITH A NEW ENDING 


know that I need to tell you much of what 
followed. It was the old story of love at 
first sight — I, full of childish conceit that 
my beauty had won the admiration of such 
a man, and he, hardened in the knowledge 
of the world, gloating over the conquest he 
had made. My father soon saw the attach- 
ment that I was forming for the Count, and, 
knowing his reputation and some of the 
scandals of his past life, forbade my re- 
ceiving him or countenancing him in any 
way. 

“Much as I loved and believed in the 
wisdom of my father, I could not but think 
him cruel and unreasonable in his de- 
mands, and for the first time in all my life 
I turned a deaf ear to his commands and 
entreaties, and by the aid of my maid was 
able to make clandestine appointments 
and to meet my lover at frequent intervals. 

“One evening he came to my home 
while my father and brother were absent, 
and told me that he had pleaded with my 
father to let him make me his wife, but 
that he had refused, and since without his 
consent marriage was impossible, we could 
never be more to each other than we were 
then. He clasped me in his arms, and 
showered his burning kisses on my face 


AN OLD STORY WITH A NEW ENDING 101 


and neck, and murmured false words of 
love and eternal devotion — and — I can 
not tell you all the rest, Doctor. That night 
could never be recalled, and in the first 
tumult of supreme love and adoration, I 
did not wish to recall it. But the bitter 
moment came fast enough. Count R. soon 
tired of my girlish love and what he termed 
assumed innocence, and I learned the ter- 
rible lesson that I so richly deserved. Do 
not withdraw your hand, please! I was 
innocent in many ways, I was only a child 
without experience; I had no mother, no 
sister, no woman to counsel me or guide 
me. You despise me, I know; but I have 
paid the penalty. I am not as other 
women, and I want you to be kind and 
gentle and forbearing with me. 

“My health soon began to fail, and my 
anxious father exhausted his resources try- 
ing to find something to bring back my old 
happy expression and to make me well 
again. 

“It was not till during a short visit to 
Carlsbad that any physician suspected or 
at least dared to suggest what the trouble 
was. It was not longer possible to conceal 
it, and my heartbroken confession was 
repeated to my father. I never realized 


102 AN OLD STORY WITH A NEW ENDING 


till then how I idolized him; not till I saw 
the love in his eyes grow cold, and the 
terrible look of pain and horror and loath- 
ing creep in, never to leave them. I was 
immediately sent to a convent in the south- 
ern part of Italy, where under the name of 
Countess R. I lived on until an accident 
brought my seclusion to a termination and 
relieved me of the awful burden which I 
expected to have to care for all my life. It 
is wicked to be thankful that a life is gone, 
but in my wickedness I dared to thank God 
that my load had been lifted from me. 

“After this I was sent to Convent St. A., 
where I devoted myself to study and 
especially to the cultivation of my voice, 
for I had determined that since my father 
would no longer let me live with him, I 
should relieve him of the care of my 
support. 

“It was while I was at work here that 
the terrible news of my brother’s death 
came to me. In his desire to avenge me 
he had challenged Count R. The duel was 
with swords, and my poor brother fell 
mortally wounded by a thrust through the 
chest. I did not see my father after this 
misfortune, nor did I ever hear from him. 
Can you imagine my feelings, Doctor, when 


AN OLD STORY WITH A NEW ENDING 103 


I heard of this, and how I longed to get 
away from it all? 

“But this was not the end of my un- 
happiness. I do not know how to tell you 
about the rest, and yet it is what, above all 
else, I must tell you, for it is coming back 
to me. Have you noticed anything wrong 
with me? I have tried to conceal it from 
my friends, and even from you, Doctor, but 
it shows its awful trail in many places. 
Did you notice these little lumps on the 
back of my neck, and did you know that 
my hair, in which I used to take so much 
pride, was losing its lustre and was falling 
out? Oh, spare me, Doctor! Spare me! 
You know what I mean. You know the 
seal of damnation that has been stamped 
upon me, and burned its way into my 
blood, and courses through my body till 
its hideous image is ever before me and 
makes the world look, oh, so desolate for 
me. You and many of my friends have 
often asked me why I never married. You 
know now, don’t you? Ah, Doctor, how 
kind you are not to show me how low I 
have fallen in your estimation. 

“Do not speak to me yet; perhaps I 
shall fall still lower. 

“You know now why I left Italy and 


104 AN OLD STORY WITH A NEW ENDING 


came to America, striving to leave no trace 
of my worthless ruined self behind. 

“You know something of my life here. 
You know how I have tried to live a good 
life, and have supported myself, and even 
saved a little by my singing and music 
lessons. I know I have been more success- 
ful than my talents really deserve, but you 
generous Americans have been so kind and 
liberal toward me. 

“But that is all past; let go my hand!” 
and here she straightened up and faced me 
with flashing eyes and stern face, and 
brushed away the traces of her sorrow. 
“You can not be my friend, but you must 
be my physician. I have told you all my 
miserable story, that you might know how 
to cure me or at least to drive away the 
traces of disease. 

“A change has come upon me. The 
constant brooding over my misfortune has 
made me feel so keenly the injustice of it 
all I no longer want to be good. I despise 
the men, and I despise still more the 
women who condone their guilt and re- 
ceive them back into society open-armed, 
regardless and oblivious of their past. Can 
you feel the spirit that is within me? Can 
you understand how wrong, long slumber- 



< 


AN OLD STORY WITH A NEW ENDING 105 


ing, has awakened, and cries for revenge? 
Can you understand the feelings that sweep 
over me that it is not one man alone, but 
all who are my enemies? One man may 
tread upon the serpent, yet every man is 
its legitimate foe, and all the serpent na- 
ture in me cries out to bite, sting, poison 
and ruin men whenever I can. 

“Horrible I know you think it, degraded 
beyond conception I am sure I am, or shall 
be; but, Doctor, I do not care. My heart 
is hardened; my life is nothing if I can not 
be revenged. And so I must be beautiful, 
I must have the power to attract those 
whom I destroy. Let me charm them like 
the snake, and as the folds of the serpent 
entwine them, let its poison enter deep 
into their blood, and let them die as I am 
dying — despised, degraded, ruined beyond 
recall.” 

She stopped as suddenly as the outburst 
of hate and passion had begun, and, bury- 
ing her face in her arms on my desk she 
broke into a paroxysm of sobbing such as 
I had never seen in a woman before. I 
did not attempt to stop her, believing that 
it was best for her to let nature have its 
full sway. 

I am not much given to moralizing, but 


106 AN OLD STORY WITH A NEW ENDING 


as I sat and watched this beautiful girl, for 
she was still a girl, filled with all the aspira- 
tions of true womanhood, yet seeing the 
utter impossibility of their fulfillment; 
driven to desperation, disgusted with life, 
regardless of the consequences, crazed by 
her sense of injustice till she saw in every 
man an enemy to herself and to her sex, I 
realized that while one must stand aghast 
at her contemplated revenge, yet he could 
not fail to feel within him a little of the 
sentiment that prompted it. Who would 
not have pitied that poor lost woman as 
she sat there sobbing out the last throbs of 
goodness and repentance that were ever to 
touch her heart? 

It is useless to tell the conversation that 
followed — the arguments, the threats, the 
entreaties; they fell upon a heart suddenly 
petrified. I finally gave her the medicine 
for which she begged, and she left my of- 
fice, quietly and composedly, after thank- 
ing me again for my kindness and courtesy 
to her. 

I have seen her since, but never to speak 
to her. I do not even know where she lives. 
She no longer sings at St. Catherine’s. In 
a large city one can lose his friends more 
rapidly than he can gain them, and I have 


AN OLD STORY WITH A NEW ENDING 107 


never met her at any of the homes which 
once were so kindly opened to her. 

Poor girl! She is beautiful still — ruin- 
ously, wildly beautiful — but she is gone, 
so far as this world is concerned, and, per- 
haps, the next. I hope that poor father 
will never hear of this last misfortune that 
has come to his beautiful darling daughter. 
And, perhaps, as time softens his sense of 
outraged pride, and his anger is lost in a 
longing to have her back again and to pro- 
tect her so long as his shattered life sur- 
vives, his prayers may be added to others 
that are offered up for pardon for this frail 
creature. And who can tell but what the 
Recording Angel may look at it as you and 
I might do, and let his deep compassion 
bring the tear that shall blot out all the 
past, and let her find, in some other world, 
the rest and peace for which she longed 
in this. 




















































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Jess of the Hills 













JESS OF THE HILLS 


111 


JESS OF THE HILLS 

I F THERE was one thing of which Lieu- 
tenant Carewood was convinced, it was 
that he could ride a horse. He dis- 
dained to class in this category the ordi- 
nary, mild-mannered, docile, well-trained 
animals of the riding school. What he 
meant when he said he could ride a horse 
was that he was not afraid of anything 
filled with bounding life, or pride, or a wild 
brute determination not to submit to the 
rule of man. In his early days he had 
grown up with horses, and as he gradually 
progressed from his childish canters on his 
Shetland pony to his wild hunts and rides 
on the horses of the plains, he gained that 
confidence and fearlessness which make a 
gallant rider. When war broke out with 
Spain, it was not strange that, filled with 
the glow of adventure and patriotism, with 
a longing to add his name to the long list of 
national heroes, he should have hastened 
to offer his services to the Government, and 
nothing could have filled him with more 
enthusiasm than the receipt of a commis- 
sion as first lieutenant in the First Ohio 
Cavalry. So it happened that he one day 


112 


JESS OF THE HILLS 


found himself encamped with his regiment 
on the historic fields of Chickamauga, on 
the very spot of ground made sacred by the 
noble blood of the North and South as the 
armies swayed back and forth, now ad- 
vancing, now retreating, always killing, and 
leaving on the trampled Dyer farm the 
suffering or grimly silent bodies of their 
noblest, till forced back sullenly, resist- 
ingly, the North found itself stretched out 
along the low summit of Snodgrass Hill, 
doggedly holding the ridge against charge 
after charge up the fatal slopes by the regi- 
ments of the South. History tells only too 
well the records of that bloody battle. But 
now the camping troops could look out be- 
yond their streets and picket line; and 
there, as the sun went down, or, better, as 
the moon came softly up along the ridge of 
that hill, they could see the closely nestling 
row of monuments erected by their grate- 
ful States to the men who fought and died 
so long ago. Each stone showed where the 
regiments had fought the hardest, where 
shell and shot fell hottest, where blood had 
flowed the freest, and the least imaginative 
of the young descendants of those honored 
heroes as he gazed into the moonlit haze 
of the growing night, could almost see the 


JESS OF THE HILLS 


113 


ghostly army fighting once more on Snod- 
grass Hill. 

That the most humdrum sort of life 
may, at a moment’s notice, become filled 
with a whirl of excitement, is a trite ob- 
servation. After days and weeks of mo- 
notonous drills and dreary waiting for 



orders for Cuba, that only came to be 
countermanded, Lieutenant Carewood had 
almost forgotten that such a thing as ex- 
citement had ever existed, and it was with 
a rather listless, uninterested glance that 
he noticed Sergeant White coming toward 
the tent, slightly limping as he walked. The 
sergeant stopped at a respectful distance 
and saluted. “You see, sir,” he said, in 
response to the lieutenant’s inquiry, “there 


114 


JESS OF THE HILLS 


is a batch of new horses just come in yes- 
terday, and the captain assigned a young 
roan to Trooper Brise, and Brise is horse- 
shy, never ought to have been in the cav- 
alry any way; but he was n’t so much to 
blame this time, for he was so proud to 
have a horse after trying those quarter- 
master’s mules that he did his best to ride 
the roan. But bless you, sir, he was n’t in 
it for a minute. That beast threw him 
twice in succession so fast that he hardly 
realized what happened, and now he says 
he has had enough and is going to try to 
get transferred to the hospital corps. I had 
Smith try it too, and he is a pretty good 
rider, but he didn’t fare much better, and 
he is over to the hospital tent now getting 
a cut on his head patched up. I wanted 
to say, too, Mr. Garewood, that I tried the 
d — d brute myself, and that ’s how I come 
to be limping.” 

“Well,” said Carewood, hardly yet 
thoroughly interested, “what do you want?” 

“Well, sir,” and a suspicious twinkle 
crept into the sergeant’s eye, “there is a 
fellow in A Troop thinks the roan is a 
mighty fine looking animal, and perhaps 
we could get the captain to exchange him 
for one of those blacks.” By this time 


JESS OF THE HILLS 


115 


Carewood had awakened to the situation. 
His troop had a horse they were afraid of, 
and were deliberately planning to turn it 
over to another troop. A pleasant thrill 
crept over him, a sensation long dormant; 
here was his chance to ride a horse. 

“Sergeant, have the horse saddled and 
brought to my tent after lunch. I’ll take 
a try at him.” 

“Very good, sir,” said White, “but — ” 
Then he hesitated, and, fearing to ex- 
press his doubts as to the lieutenant’s 
ability to ride a horse, he came to atten- 
tion, saluted, and went back to his troop 
street to tell the rest of them that they 
might just as well take their last look at 
Carewood, for he was going to try to do a 
stunt with a horse that he and Smith had 
failed in, and they all knew that that 
simply meant it could n’t be done. Care- 
wood lapsed into listlessness again, and 
was aroused to action only by his striker, 
who announced that lunch was ready. 
After lunch was officers’ school, and he had 
entirely forgotten about the roan till he 
reached his tent an hour or so later and 
found a trooper standing there, trying to 
quiet the horse, whose neck was already 


116 


JESS OF THE HILLS 


flecked with froth as he impatiently 
champed at his bit and tossed his haughty 
head, while he had dug great holes in the 
ground as he restlessly stamped the soft 
earth. Carewood stepped into his tent, 
strapped on his spurs, and a moment later 
six feet of honest, hearty manhood, with 
blond hair and blue eyes, and a smooth 
sunburned handsome face, had vaulted into 
the saddle, and before the astonished horse 
had fairly realized that it was up to him, 
Carewood’s feet were firmly in the stirrups, 
and a hand used to the bridle was direct- 
ing the movements. 

For a moment there was a trembling, 
nervous hesitation on the part of the horse, 
and then, wheeling suddenly, he darted 
down the officers’ street, out through the 
gate, and past the Dyer pump where thirsty 
soldiers were swarming to quench their 
thirst, down past the storehouses of Uncle 
Sam’s army, off to the left, past the monu- 
ment that marks Rosecrans’ shifting head- 
quarters, through the parks, and past the 
spot where, sheltered by the low hills, 
Sheridan had massed his gallant cavalry 
before the terrible charge over the plain 
beyond. On the horse flew, past Bloody 
Pond, on down the Crawfish Road, past the 


JESS OF THE HILLS 


117 


Springs, and then, suddenly leaving the 
main road just to the right of Leiter Hos- 
pital, he took the narrow trail that leads 
through the woods over the hills into 
Georgia. Though unable to control the 
horse, Carewood had not for one moment 
thought of fear as long as they stuck to the 
road. He sat firmly in his saddle, acutely 
on the alert for any sudden or ugly action 
of the horse, but when the road changed 
to the bridle path, where the overhanging 
boughs of the thickly wooded hills knocked 
off his hat and scratched his face and 
bruised his arm, it suddenly dawned upon 
him that there might be some danger and 
that it was time to stop. It was impossible 
to accomplish this by means of the bridle 
reins, for the horse was so wildly excited 
that even the vicious curb of the army 
bridle had no effect. Realizing the neces- 
sity for prompt action to avoid a serious 
catastrophe, Carewood threw himself for- 
ward along the neck of the horse, catching 
his spur firmly in the saddle, and grasping 
the bar of the bit began twisting it in the 
horse’s mouth, a trick he had successfully 
tried several times before. Astonished and 
frightened at this new procedure, and 
flinching with the pain, the maddened 


118 


JESS OF THE HILLS 


animal came almost to a stop, and possibly 
had not the curb strap broken Carewood 
might yet have mastered him; but when 
that gave way, his last hope was gone, and 
the horse galloped on more wildly and 
recklessly than before. Up over the low 
hills they flew, on into the thickening 
forest, the lieutenant clinging like an In- 
dian to the horse’s body. 

Carewood afterwards said he did not 
know how it happened, but he got a 
glimpse of a clearing, a little cabin, a bare- 
headed woman, and then there was a 
scream, a stopping and swerving of the 
horse, and he was on the ground, with his 
leg doubled up under him and hurting like 
the devil. Surely he had had enough ex- 
citement for one day, and as he gathered 
his shaken wits together and looked up at 
the young woman standing there gazing at 
him from a pair of large dark, widely 
opened and half-pitying eyes, he cursed the 
luck that had put him, a lieutenant in the 
cavalry and a self-esteemed expert rider, 
in such a humiliating position. So angered 
and annoyed was he at the half-amused, 
half-pitying look of those eyes that he 
gazed back at them almost defiantly, and 
never noticed until later that her feet were 



“/ am very sorry , sir , // I scared your horse * * * I'm 
afraid you are hurt, sir. Let me help you. ” 













JESS OF THE HILLS 


119 


bare and that her pretty blue gingham only 
half concealed her shapely ankles; that 
her face was lovely even though it were as 
brown as a southern sun could make it, 
and that her hands were not large and 
awkward, even if she had perhaps used the 
hoe or rake in a little garden about the 
cabin. All these details came to him later, 
but now he tried to rise to his feet, to re- 
lieve himself from his awkward position. 

It was of no use. The first attempt 
brought forth a cry of anguish that startled 
the staring maiden and changed the quizzi- 
cal expression of her eyes to one of sorrow 
and anxiety. She came to him and said, 
“I am very sorry, sir, if I scared your horse, 
but he nearly ran over me, and I could n’t 
help it, and I ’m afraid you are hurt, sir. 
Let me help you.” Then, without listening 
to his grumbling explanations, she care- 
fully examined his leg and gave it as her 
opinion that it was broken, and her opin- 
ion was worth something, too; for living, 
as she did, far from the city and doctors, 
there in a little mountaineer’s clearing, she 
had learned like the others to care for the 
sick, to aid the wounded, and even some- 
times to probe for a ball or to sew up an 
ugly gash. His leg was surely broken and 


120 


JESS OF THE HILLS 


Carewood realized it, too, and as she deftly 
cut away the clothing and made strips of 
it with which to tie on some splints impro- 
vised from a couple of old shingles, he felt 
for the moment that she was his superior 
officer, and he realized for the first time 
that this gentle, uncultured, unconventional 
flower was beautiful. When she had com- 
pleted her task and smilingly looked at 
him, she said : “I don’t know how you ’ll 
get into the house. Father and brother and 
Mace are away and won’t get back till 
night, and I reckon you can’t help your- 
self very much. You might, though, put 
one arm on my shoulder and hop in,” and 
her smile as she said this showed two rows 
of the whitest teeth he had ever seen. 

“I think that would work all right,” he 
hastened to say. “Anyway, let ’s try.” And 
the lieutenant must be excused if, even 
suffering as he did, he should experience 
a new pleasure as she helped him to rise, 
and her round strong arm slipped around 
his waist to steady him, while her strong 
young shoulder took the weight of his en- 
circling arm. He never forgot those few 
moments — going from where he had 
fallen into the poor little cabin that Jess 
honored by the name of home. Even now 


JESS OF THE HILLS 


121 


he can not say whether it was admiration, 
gratitude, or love, that helped to stamp 
them forever on his memory. But what 
matters it, after all? It was only a ques- 
tion of time when he should love her. 
Propinquity is the great and domineering 
factor in love, and then, Jess was such a 
lovable girl! When her harsh-faced, griz- 
zled father, and great lank, lean, awk- 
ward, slouching brother came home that 
night and extended in their rough way a 
curt greeting and welcome, he wondered 
how this flower had grown up among the 
weeds, and he thought that it must be the 
dead mother that had left this inheritance 
of loveliness and gentleness to her 
daughter. 

Carewood felt a vague resentment at the 
familiar greeting she accorded Mace, and 
he could read in the eyes of this big moun- 
taineer that Jess, Jess of the Hills, they 
sometimes called her, was the sweetest 
thing on all that mountain side. It was 
Mace that caught the lieutenant’s horse, 
and, much to his disgust, it was Mace that 
rode that same horse back to camp the next 
day and reported the accident to the colo- 
nel; and when I rode back with him, it was 
Mace who told me all about the family, 


122 


JESS OF THE HILLS 


how he had been adopted into it; of the 
hazardous life they led, of the gentle girl 
whom they and all the rough people about 
there loved and almost worshiped; how 
they had tried to make her better than the 
rest of them, and had sent her into Chatta- 
nooga to school for a few winters. And so 
he rambled on in his frank, fearless way, 
showing me by a hundred little tokens that 
it was Jess that held his heart in her keep- 
ing; that, roughened and untutored as he 
was, it was Jess that made life bright and 
beautiful for him; that he was already 
looking forward to the time when the quiet 
understanding that had always existed be- 
tween him and Jess should blossom into 
full blown, acknowledged love, and she — 
beautiful, adored Jess of the Hills — should 
be his bride. 

I found Carewood fairly comfortable, 
and, though I changed the splints and 
made a few improvements in their appli- 
cation, I was glad to give full credit to the 
dexterous treatment of his self-appointed 
surgeon. He had very little to say about 
his ride, but asked me almost at once if 
I could n’t get him a sick leave for a few 
weeks. “Of course, I don’t mean any re- 
flection upon your hospital. Major,” he said, 


JESS OF THE HILLS 


123 


“but hang it all, I am pretty comfortable 
out here, and it will get along all right, and, 
well, the fact is, Major, you haven’t got 
any nurses in your hospital corps that come 
up to Jess, and I want to stay.” 

I arranged that for him at headquarters, 
and so I saw him from time to time, and 
watched the little drama that was being 
enacted up there in the wilds of the moun- 
tain side, almost shut out by their peculiar 
environment from the taming hand of 
civilization. I played the part of eaves- 
dropper one day, along toward the time 
when the bone was getting stronger and he 
could get out on the little porch in the 
shade. I had come up from the other side 
of the house, and, as I stepped in, I heard 
some one earnestly talking on the porch. 
As I sat down to wait for some one to make 
his appearance, the words of the conversa- 
tion came floating in through the window. 
Much as I despised myself for listening, I 
could not go away, or interrupt what they 
were saying. “You know, Jess,” it was 
Carewood’s voice that was speaking, “that 
I love you. You know that ever since that 
sweet moment when you helped me into 
the house, the blessed day when the horse 
threw me, I have loved you. Every day I 


124 


JESS OF THE HILLS 


have said I would not, and every day has 
ended by my loving you more than ever. 
The gentle pity of those dear sweet eyes 
that annoyed me so at first has been the 
sweetest gift that human heart has ever 
given me; and now, Jess, darling, I want to 
tell you that I love you, and that if, when 
the war is over, you will be my wife, we 
will go to the North. There in my home 
you shall make me the happiest and proud- 
est man that lives.” 

There was a silence for a few moments, 
and I heard the sweet, low voice of Jess 
answer: “I don’t know, Mr. Carewood. I 
can’t tell you just how I feel. I do like you 
very much, but we are so very far apart. 
I am so ignorant of all that goes on in your 
world, and I am afraid I might not make 
you happy. Perhaps I might not be happy 
myself”; and then Garewood’s impatient 
“What matters it all, dearest? If you only 
love me, we shall be more than happy, and 
besides, while I am away at the war you 
shall go to Philadelphia. I will arrange 
that for you with my family there. You 
shall go to school if you wish; you shall 
meet my people; you shall do what you 
wish; but, Jess, darling, believe me it is not 
necessary. You are the dearest, sweetest 


JESS OF THE HILLS 


125 


little plant that ever grew, and if you will 
consent to be mine, I ask for nothing more. 
You can not make yourself better or more 
lovable than you are now, and too much 
civilization might spoil you.” 

“Ah, no! No! Mr. Carewood. Don’t 
ask me. Please do not.” I heard her plead, 
“What would Mace, dear old Mace, say? I 
can’t leave him”; and then I thought I heard 
something that sounded like “Damn Mace!” 
but I may have been mistaken. Then I 
made a noise and brought the tete-a-tete 
to a conclusion, for, after all, my sympathy 
was with Mace. In some way I thought it 
would not go well with Carewood if this 
son of the mountain should find that his 
rosebud that he had guarded and watched 
and worshiped so long had blossomed for 
some one else. It was easy to see that the 
lieutenant wished I was in Cuba, or Porto 
Rico, or most any hot place but there just 
at this time. But it couldn’t be helped, 
and after examining his leg carefully I told 
him that in another week he would be 
ready to return to camp. I looked at Jess 
as I said this, and I fancied that I saw her 
turn pale for a moment, and that a little 
startled look came into those glorious eyes, 
but that was all. I fancied, however, that 


126 


JESS OF THE HILLS 


in her face I could read of a new love called 
into life. But who can say what lies hidden 
beyond the curtained depths of a woman’s 
eyes? 

I did not see Carewood again till he 
came back to camp a few days before the 
time I had set for his return. Pale and 
sullen he rode into camp, and alongside of 
him rode Mace, looking larger, stronger 
than before, with an almost savage look 
in his face, while peeping from beneath 
his vest was the ugly-looking butt of a 
Colt’s pistol. Not a word was said be- 
tween them, but I knew from their looks 
that something had gone wrong, and 
though no one ever dared accuse Care- 
wood of being a coward, I knew that he 
was submitting to Mace’s dictation. As 
soon as they had reached the camp, Mace 
gave the lieutenant a look full of hatred 
and warning, and with a peculiar shake of 
his head he whirled around, jabbed his 
horse fiercely with his spurs, and back he 
flew, over the roads that held no romance 
for him, back to the hills where he be- 
longed, back to the object of his crude 
adoration, back to try to win again the love 
this young interloping, ungrateful cavalry 
officer had so nearly ruined. 


JESS OF THE HILLS 


127 


Carewood and I had always been great 
friends, but he never made a full confidant 
of me in this matter. He never went back 
to the hills where Jess lived. But I rode 
there once when I had been down to Leiter 
Hospital, and found her at her home sit- 
ting listlessly out on the porch gazing 
dreamily way off in the direction of Chick- 
amauga, off in the distance where thou- 
sands of brave hearts were waiting for 
their country’s call; and among those many 
thousands I fancied there was a tall, blond, 
blue-eyed, square-shouldered fellow with 
yellow stripes on his trousers and lieuten- 
ant’s straps on his shoulders the thought of 
whom filled her mind to overflowing and 
made the sweet eyes moist with the dew of 
love. 

Jess told hie in her simple childish way 
of the tragedy that was so nearly enacted 
in her home; how Mace had found the lieu- 
tenant making love to her; and how only 
her beseeching hands had saved him from 
instant death. And then she told me some- 
thing that I have never dared to repeat to 
Carewood — that she worshiped him, idol- 
ized him, loved him till all the world held 
nothing else for her. She knew too well, 
however, that that love, if made known and 


128 


JESS OF THE HILLS 


persisted in, meant Carewood’s death just 
as surely as the sun went down and the 
moon rose over the tented fields of Chicka- 
mauga. And so she had refused his love. 
She had declared that after all it was dear 
old Mace she loved, and Carewood had 
gone back to camp, sullenly indifferent to 
his companions or his surroundings, and 
Jess stayed behind with the gnawing pain, 
the troubled consciousness of love not un- 
derstood, and out of it all, only Mace was 
happy. 



































































































































































































































































































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